My Mother, the Forensic Pathologist My mother is a forensic pathologist and a mother of two sons. She resented me because of my father’s death and became even colder after remarrying and giving birth to my brother, mistreating me at every turn. She even went so far as to personally dissect me to conceal evidence of my brother’s crime when he became a murderer. What she didn’t know was that the dead person was me. When it was revealed that the unidentified body was mine, she went mad. I’m dead. My soul floats in mid-air, looking down at my own horrific body. The woman before me right now is my birth mother. She’s a forensic pathologist, swiftly cutting open my body with a scalpel and removing the contents that had been forcibly poured into my stomach. She retches uncontrollably but has no choice but to speed up her work. My face and head have been corroded by sulfuric acid to the point where my features are unrecognizable. My cervical vertebrae are broken – the direct cause of my death. The revolting substances churning in my stomach were forced down my throat by my brother. Bits of flesh remain under my fingernails, torn from his body during my final struggle. I can’t help but recall the phone call my brother made to mom before she arrived. “Mom, where are you? I pushed someone down the stairs…” My brother nervously sought help from mom. After all, he had only been fond of pranks before, never going as far as causing someone’s death. Mom was clearly stunned on the phone. “Ryan, where are you? Don’t move, I’m coming right now!” “Okay, Mom, hurry up, I’m scared!” my brother urged anxiously. “Don’t be afraid, sweetie. Mom’s here for everything. We’ll talk when I get there!” Mom rushed to the scene in such a hurry she didn’t even dress properly, wearing only a mask and hat! When she saw the body lying on the ground, she didn’t even bother to ask why my brother had pushed someone down the stairs. She immediately crouched down and started cleaning up the traces my brother had left behind! My spirit in the air was in such pain I could hardly breathe. I always thought that no matter how much mom doted on my brother, she wouldn’t allow him to take a life so carelessly. But I never imagined she would actually come. She even destroyed the evidence of my brother poisoning me with her own hands! I cried out in anguish, running to mom and begging her to stop, telling her how much it hurt! But I was just a spirit, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make her notice me. I passed through her body, feeling her tremble. She was actually helping her son dissect her other son. At this moment, she surely didn’t know that this body she was destroying evidence from, this horrifically mangled corpse, was mine. I watched as mom used the knife to cut open my stomach and clean out the residue in my stomach with water she had brought! She even used the sharp blade to lift my fingernails and clean out the flesh my brother had left behind when I clawed at him. It was heartbreaking…

Mom dug a hole with many tools she could find and carried my body with my brother to dump it in. After filling it with soil, she put on plastic bags and cleaned up all the footprints she and my brother had left behind. Mom’s face was as dark as water. Having just finished dealing with the aftermath, her eyes flickered with a dim and complex light! She gripped my brother’s arm tightly, her voice low and stern: “Remember, not a word about what happened today!” Back home, the air in the living room was heavy. I watched all this from another world’s perspective, my soul floating in the air, powerless to change anything. “Why did you hurt someone?” Mom questioned my brother. My brother turned his head away, his voice choked with tears, “He was just a homeless man! He threatened to hurt our whole family! I… I just wanted to protect you…” Hearing him say this, my heart felt like it was being torn apart by a dull knife. Memories from my life came flooding back: every time I was neglected, every meal I couldn’t eat my fill, every time I was unfairly locked in the dark room… All the pain and despair once again eroded my soul. “You really disappoint me.” Mom said in a flat tone, without much more reproach. These simple words contrasted sharply with her violence towards me. It also made me question her identity, how she had lost the most basic human conscience. To cover up for her son, she personally disposed of the victim’s body. I couldn’t help but recall that ever since Dad passed away, from the time I could remember, Mom never liked me. She often wanted to strangle me on lonely nights. She kept saying Dad died to save me. But just a few years later, she remarried and had my brother. My position in this family became even more precarious, bullied and insulted, beaten by everyone. And my brother was the culprit. All the beatings I took from childhood to adulthood were because of his framing! I was beaten by Mom with a stick until I coughed up blood, then thrown into a dark room to reflect. The little bit of gentleness and understanding I had hoped for on countless nights, shivering in that dark room, now seemed so distant and illusory. Anger and helplessness stirred up the emotions that remained in this world. I rushed forward, trying to attack the brother who had deceived our mother and framed me many times. But when my fist passed through his body, there was no sensation, as if it were passing through air. “Why do you always favor him?!” I screamed at my mother, but the voice only echoed in my own ears. “Why has it always been me who gets hurt, from childhood till now! I’m your child too! Why are you so cruel!” I lived such a miserable life, while my brother grew up like a child bathed in honey. We had the same mother, yet lived completely different lives. Watching Mother gently caress my brother’s warm skin while I couldn’t even seek the most basic justice, an indescribable pain and sense of isolation overflowed from the bottom of my heart. Moonlight fell in patches on the old wooden floor outside, every corner of the house exuding an eerie and cold air. I looked around at this place once called “home”, which had now become a place where no one remembered my existence. Vaguely, I seemed to hear Father say to Mother before he passed away: “Take good care of the children!” But reality was so cruel and ironic. Mom took care of me until she saw me suffer endless torment, and then personally disposed of my corpse. All the grievances and harm I had endured over the years seemed to turn into sharp arrows, unable to be released even after death. I existed in this world like a ghost, both laughable and pitiful.

On a warm afternoon, Mom and my brother sat in the kitchen, laughter floating lightly. “Ryan, you need to exercise well, don’t get too fat, or your body functions will decline!” “It’s fine, Mom. Oh right, I want the latest sneakers, can you buy them for me?” My brother asked Mom casually, as if nothing had happened. He had already taken all the money from me. Now his vanity still wasn’t satisfied. “Of course! How much? Mom will transfer it to you! Is five thousand enough?” My brother flatteringly massaged Mom’s shoulders and legs behind her. “I also want a new phone!” “Okay, as long as you behave and listen well in the future, and don’t make any more mistakes, Mom will fulfill all your wishes!” I suddenly felt this family was disgusting. Perhaps because of Mom’s profession, this family seemed to have no concept of death at all. It didn’t seem to affect them at all. As if my brother had never killed anyone, and Mom had never hidden a corpse for my brother. The two of them were affectionate, mother and son, a very loving scene. I hid in the corner, my lonely soul floating in the air, looking at the mother who doted on her son before me, thinking of everything this mother had done to me, my heart ached to the point where I couldn’t breathe. People die, but have to face all this. My heart felt as if it had been torn apart. Suddenly, the phone ring broke this tranquility. “Hello?” Mom answered the phone, the smile on her face gradually freezing. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but we need you to come to the police station immediately.” A serious voice came from the other end of the phone. I watched from the air as she hurriedly put on her coat, a sense of foreboding rising in my heart. Mother was a forensic pathologist, and being urgently summoned in this situation always meant something terrible had happened. After arriving at the police station, Mother was taken directly to the autopsy room. A body lay on the table, already beginning to decompose. When she pulled back the cover, although the face was difficult to recognize, every detail of that body made her heart race. “The body is severely damaged! Who could be so cruel as to completely destroy the face, break the neck! Even the fingernails have been lifted!” As she described the horrific state of the body, her voice grew smaller and smaller. She gradually became familiar with this body, it was the body she had secretly buried underground in the wasteland! “Where did the body come from?” “It was reportedly discovered yesterday by a construction team during excavation.” The officer beside her added. Hearing this, Mom’s hand trembled, “Really…” “What’s wrong?” A colleague asked my mom. She was silent for a moment before responding, “Nothing!” I watched as Mother struggled to control her panic and anxiety. She picked up the scalpel and began to work. However, when the internal organs emitted waves of stench, she finally couldn’t hold back and ran to the corner to vomit. She had been a forensic pathologist for years and seasons, of course she wouldn’t vomit. Why would she vomit and feel sick? It was because that body was the one she had personally cleaned up! She knew too well what this body meant! The air was filled with the most suffocating mixture of death and chemical reagents. I floated helplessly in mid-air, tears blurring my vision, my heart aching as I watched my own cruel death being recreated before my eyes. At this moment, I could only cry silently, my role as an observer making me feel even more acutely the pain and crime hidden behind every action. Mother couldn’t sense my presence, but she would occasionally pause her work and look towards an empty space. As if she were looking at me. The whole process seemed to play out in slow motion: every cut, every drop of blood, every piece of muscle was clearly visible. Every knife that fell felt as if it were really stabbing into my body, painfully. This scene was too cruel and real, but it also reminded me. Even after leaving this world, those unresolved wounds still deeply affected me.

I couldn’t help but recall the moments before my death. My brother had asked me to meet him on the hill behind our house, saying he had something important to tell me. About my birth father! But when I got there, my brother immediately kicked me down. I had always been physically weak, while my brother was as strong as an ox! “Ugh… What’s wrong with you, Ryan! Why did you kick me?” Although I was physically weak, my temper wasn’t particularly good. I wouldn’t speak nicely to him after being inexplicably beaten by my brother. “Jack, how do you have the face to stay in our house? How can you shamelessly live off others! You’re a grown man, how can you be so shameless!” I was used to this kind of insult from him. “What did you want to tell me? You said it was about my dad!” “Do you know how your dad died? He was killed by you! But Mom didn’t tell you everything, your dad…” He trailed off. “What about my dad?” I asked anxiously, concerned about anything related to my father. “Give me all your money, and I’ll tell you!” He brazenly demanded money from me. “I don’t have any money!” He said he had something to tell me, so I was already very wary and had recorded our conversation on my phone. But my brother punched me in the eye, and while I was in pain, he forcefully shoved some unknown substance down my throat. “Ugh… you…” My brother didn’t give me any chance to fight back. He took my phone and saw that I had been recording. He suddenly went crazy, taking out sulfuric acid from somewhere and pouring it on my face. The pain was excruciating, and my mouth was full of blood. I couldn’t speak. I struggled to grab his leg, wanting him to spare me. But what I heard before I died was my brother taking my phone, forcing me to use my fingerprint to unlock it, and transferring all my hard-earned savings and the small inheritance my father had left me. I desperately tried to grab him, but he kicked me off the second floor. As I fell, I felt weightless, and when I hit the ground, my neck broke. I was completely lifeless. And my brother, after transferring all my money, smashed my phone and threw it in the trash. Suddenly, my thoughts were pulled back to reality. The police were still investigating this unclaimed body. Phones rang incessantly in the office, each ring seeming to strike my soul. When Mother returned home in a daze, the sound of my brother playing with the dog came from the yard. She stared at them for a moment before walking over and hugging my brother tightly. “Be careful,” she said softly, with deep fear and worry, holding my brother tightly in her arms. As if saying a final goodbye, she went to the kitchen and started preparing dinner, making my brother’s favorite braised pork. During dinner, the atmosphere was warm and peaceful. Mother suddenly spoke up: “Where’s Jack? I haven’t seen him for days.” “Oh, my brother hasn’t been home for several days.” My brother could sense the sudden change in atmosphere. “Maybe he’s out playing again!” Mother’s face immediately darkened. “What an ungrateful, ill-mannered thing! All he knows is how to spend the family’s money!” She angrily picked up some food for my brother. I watched this scene, listening to my mother’s accusations and resentment towards me, silently crying in the air. I wasn’t a person who cried easily. Life had already been so bitter, but seeing scenes that pierced my heart, even as a man, I couldn’t help but shed tears. Just then, the phone rang again. “Hello, is this Mrs. Peterson?” The tone on the other end was serious. “We’ve learned from the school that your son Jack hasn’t been seen for many days…” “What? Impossible! He’s just out playing, right?” Mother tried to remain calm. “We regret to inform you…” The voice on the phone paused, “There’s reason to believe he may have met with misfortune. We suggest you file a police report!” The unexpected news shattered Mother’s last hope. “No, how could that be possible, he’s just playing around…” she murmured softly, tears beginning to fall. When the authorities contacted her again, saying the deceased might be me and asking her to come to the police station to provide more information, my mom trembled as she answered her cell phone. “Is it… is it really Jack?” Her voice revealed indescribable pain and disbelief!

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I had been with Logan for two years as his nominal girlfriend. I was pretty and obedient, never saying no to Logan in or out of bed. The night his true love returned, I cried my eyes out, insisting he was the love of my life and I couldn’t live without him. After hearing the cold slam of the door as he left, I sat cross-legged and started punching numbers into a calculator: “1 + 1 + 1…” A mansion, two sports cars… Hehe…I can retire now… “What are you doing?” Logan’s voice from behind nearly made me drop the calculator in shock. My former sugar daddy glanced at the calculator in my hand, then at the manic grin I couldn’t quite hide. He raised an eyebrow: “You seem awfully happy about breaking up with me?” I had always thought Logan was quite satisfied with me over the years. I was sweet, obedient and understanding. I never pried into his affairs and was an expert at stroking his male ego: “Logan…I think I’m falling for you.” “Logan…how am I not good enough compared to her?” Each time I breathlessly whispered his name, Logan truly believed I was in love with him. I couldn’t help it – he gave me so much. I had to put on a bit of a show to ease my conscience about taking his money. If he hadn’t come back just now, I could have milked the heartbroken, lonely substitute act for another hundred episodes. Now Logan leaned against the doorframe, all long legs and narrow waist, his face expressionless as he looked at me: “…Didn’t you say you loved me most?” “Yes, yes, of course…” I nodded vigorously while frantically pressing the clear button on the calculator under my pillow: “Zero zero zero…” Shut up! “You seem awfully happy about breaking up with me?” …Well, not extremely happy. Our eyes met and the atmosphere grew awkward. I eyed him warily, carefully hiding the property deed under my pillow as I tried to act out the part of a devastated, obsessed girl pounding her pillow: “Logan! Logan! How will I ever live without you, Logan!” … “You can stop acting now, Aria.” So…I looked at him cautiously. Why did he come back? Wasn’t his true love returning today? Logan tossed his jacket on the sofa: “The city’s been locked down.” I quickly stuck my head out to look – the whole villa complex had been sealed off for quarantine! “Then…what about Olivia…” “She just landed at the airport and was taken straight to quarantine.” Wow, return to the country in chapter one, quarantine in chapter two. “So you’re staying here now?” I fingered the property deed with my name newly added to it. “Mm.” Oh…should I keep up the act or not? I watched Logan carefully. He sank into the sofa, clearly troubled, probably worried his rival would steal his true love’s heart first. “Why don’t you sign up to be a volunteer?” It was probably too late to get certified as a caregiver, but he could try volunteering to help his true love. “Aria, you seem very eager for me to leave?” …If he didn’t want to volunteer he could just say so. What was the point in calling out my true thoughts? “I…I just thought you might be anxious.” “Aria, our contract period is over. I can’t leave now, so I’ll borrow the upstairs study. Once quarantine ends, I’ll go.” “During this time, we’re simply roommates.” Logan raised his head, his eyes cold behind his gold-rimmed glasses: “And don’t try any tricks. Don’t have any illusions about our relationship.” Ah…no worries there, unless you’ve got another mansion to give me. True to his word, Logan slept in the upstairs study that night. When I got up bleary-eyed in the morning to make noodles, I heard movement upstairs – he was just finishing work. Work probably ranked even higher than Olivia for him. Logan was a Capricorn, so I guess horoscopes are pretty accurate. I was slurping noodles in the kitchen when Logan came downstairs. He opened the freezer drawer and reached for the coffee beans in the cabinet, then froze when he saw me: “Aria! What are you wearing?!” “Oh this…I don’t have any other clothes.” I glanced down at my skimpy outfit, then nonchalantly blew on my instant noodles. The sound of the washing machine reminded Logan that he had called me over suddenly two days ago, so I hadn’t brought many changes of clothes. The closet only held his clothes and the short skirts and cheongsams I had bought to please him out of professionalism. They hadn’t even been used yet before his true love returned. Logan grabbed an iced Americano and went back upstairs. Ten minutes later, two unopened dress shirts landed on the sofa. When Logan came down for lunch, I had left food on the table for him. It was quite a feast. Braised beef, spicy beef, mushroom chicken stew, pickled vegetable soup. I had set aside three flavors for him, in exchange for the two shirts. Logan clearly wasn’t used to eating this kind of instant food. He knocked on my door and came in when I answered. He stood there holding the instant noodles, his expression seeming to say: “Is this how you show your professed love for me?” “Shouldn’t you have made a proper four-dish meal to make me feel at home and deeply regret not being with you?” Why would I do something as stupid as making a huge meal for a man who wouldn’t come home, wasting all that food? I sat at the desk, not bothering to take off my headphones as I looked up at him. His gaze lingered briefly on the expanse of thigh visible below my shirt hem. Oh right, I couldn’t fit into Logan’s pants, but his shirt was long enough to wear as a dress. Before he could speak, I said: “Mister, cooking costs extra.” No more love, even the sweet “Logan honey” had turned into a cold “Mister”. Taken aback by my words, Logan didn’t get angry. “How much?” Money could solve any problem for him without causing extra emotions. I smiled and showed him a number, displaying my QR code. I hummed a little tune as I fried eggs wearing his shirt. Logan sat in the living room on a video call. I sensed his gaze flitting to my back several times – he must have been annoyed by me. After all, I used to profess my love for him so earnestly. As I bent down to open the fridge, I heard his assistant on the video call clear his throat softly, quietly reminding Logan it was his turn to speak. I turned around and our eyes met. Logan quickly averted his gaze as if electrified. The great workaholic Logan, distracted during a meeting? He must be plotting how to get back at me. I bent down to put a sandwich on the table in front of him, mouthing silently from behind his laptop: Remember to wash the dishes. Then I went back to my room to do practice questions with my headphones on. My relationship with sugar daddy Logan was purely an accident. His true love Olivia got together with his despised nephew Jack, which really stung him. Logan, that refined pervert with his superiority complex, refused to be outdone. A group of girls were fawning over him on the couch. I was working part-time, bending over with a fruit platter when I looked up and met Logan’s drunken gaze. His thin lips were like a knife. He carelessly removed my glasses with his elegant hand, leaning back on the sofa: “Strip.” His tone was casual, as if commenting on the nice weather. Seeing my hesitation, he asked: “Why aren’t you moving?” I noticed his expensive gold-rimmed glasses. The high-priced hostesses were fawning over him, but there was always an awkward invisible wall between them. Much later I learned that Logan had quirks – he hated people looking directly at him. Even when we were intimate, we never had much physical contact. I never even saw his face in the throes of passion. His gaze landed on the small red birthmark on my lower back. “Even your underwear is so shabby.” “And not even matching, hehe.” The girls next to him whispered, mocking my embarrassment. What could I do? I was poor. Logan put down his glass of amber liquid, the ice clinking. The light reflected dangerously in his sharp eyes, adding a wild, dangerous air: “You’ll do.” Logan had fallen for 19-year-old Olivia at first sight at a dinner between their families. But Olivia and his distant nephew Jack were childhood sweethearts. Both their families were prominent old money – a perfect match straight out of a novel. By family hierarchy, Olivia should call Logan “uncle” like Jack did. In terms of age and romance, he couldn’t compare to Jack. Olivia had worn a white dress to that dinner. The night Logan took me from the club, his assistant brought an identical white dress for me to wear. He blindfolded me, making me call his name over and over in the darkness. Sometimes I would secretly wonder what the normally focused, cold Logan in his crisp suit would look like in the throes of passion. Would he loosen his tie and throw back his head like a lone wolf, a bead of sweat rolling down his throat? I had once seen a photo of Olivia hidden in his desk drawer. She was wearing a cheerleader uniform, the blue and red skirt shimmering in the light. She looked radiant and confident, like a little sun that would never dim. The photo was clearly taken secretly – her face was a bit blurry. But there was a small birthmark on her lower back. In the same spot as mine. With Olivia, Logan was experiencing first love – gentle, protective, carefully building her up. But with me, it was wild abandon. Beneath the refined shirt and tie was a violent beast waiting to be unleashed. Logan wore royal blue silk pajamas, even the gold trim on the cuffs perfectly pressed. The top button was undone, revealing his defined collarbones. His skin was an unhealthy pale from overwork. When I came out wrapped in a towel after my shower, I saw Logan sitting on the sofa, chin propped on his hand as he stared at his laptop, lost in thought. That hand with its elegant knuckles was especially beautiful when signing checks for me. What was he thinking about? The weather turning cold? Which company to bankrupt next? Just then, my phone on the table rang – a video call from Zack. “Heard you’re in quarantine, sis! When are you coming – holy shit! Answering a video call right out of the shower, trying to challenge your bro’s moral limits?” Zack was a guy I met when I was working part-time in college. He stood up for me when customers harassed me, insisting I was his little sister in a past life. We became sworn siblings and with his protection, my days working at the food court became much easier. He was handsome and popular, ran a tattoo shop, and had girls chasing after him everywhere. “Wait, is that a guy behind you? It is, right!” “You’re cheating! Aria, you player!” I stiffly turned around to see Logan’s expressionless face. His look clearly said: “The contract states that Aria seeing multiple people counts as a violation.” I panicked and quickly cut off Zack’s wailing on the other end: “Bro! Stop messing around!” Then, considering my bright future prospects of picking up cute boys with Zack, I turned back to Logan’s now calm face with a big grin: “What nonsense! This is my uncle!” Logan’s smile froze. I placated Zack for a bit and promised to call him back that night. “I didn’t know you had a brother.” There’s a lot you don’t know about me. “Zack helped me out when I faced some trouble at my old job.” To prove it, I lifted my bangs and leaned in to show him the scar on my temple: “See, someone hit me with a plate.” I didn’t expect Logan to actually lean in and examine my scar closely. With his high brow bone, the crystal chandelier cast shadows in his eye sockets, making his gaze seem tender: “Who hurt you?” I have to admit, he could be quite charming when gentle. But Logan was still Logan – in the next moment he reverted to type: “I thought you were always the one doing the deceiving.” My heart skipped a beat at the mention of deception. …Logan couldn’t have discovered something, could he? If he found out I had deceived him, with Logan’s abilities, he’d probably make me give back everything I’d gotten from him. Summer in River City brought frequent rain. It started pouring again in the evening. For several days, Logan and I kept our distance. I made meals and he appeared right on time to eat. But tonight was different. The soy milk by my hand had cooled, but he still hadn’t come down. I was woken in the middle of the night by the sound of the coffee machine. I saw him in the kitchen, looking lost as he guzzled coffee, dark circles under his eyes. Had he lost a bid? Been dumped by Olivia? Whatever happened, don’t waste food! I picked up the tray of food and knocked on his door. No response, but the door was ajar and swung open with a push. Logan had fallen asleep slumped over his desk in the dark. Golden flecks of rain reflected on the floor-to-ceiling windows cast a lonely glow on his profile. I felt his forehead – no fever, but his hands were cold. He must have gotten chilled from the air conditioning and exhaustion. I turned off the AC, dragged him to the sofa, and covered him with a jacket. Logan looked quite intimidating even when silent. He seemed so peaceful lying there, his breathing becoming more even. Logan woke up in the middle of the night. The light was still on in my room, and he knocked softly on the door. I opened it a crack, eyeing him warily. What now? Was the capitalist going to make the working class get up and cook for him at this hour? Logan’s gaze flitted around before finally settling on my eyes: “…Thank you.” “The food on the table was very good. I reheated it.” “…Get some sleep soon.” I nodded and closed the door. I closed the door, but I sensed Logan was still standing outside. Logan had been acting very strangely these past few days. The next day I mentioned I was going to make noodles with vegetables. When I finished brushing my teeth and went to the kitchen, I found Logan washing the greens. The pink apron looked a bit awkward on him. Noticing me behind him, Logan explained: “I was just helping out.” After we finished eating, the high school kid next door came by to pick up some homework. That’s when Logan learned I was tutoring the neighbor’s child in exchange for vegetables. The greens in his bowl were what I had earned by staying up late solving practice problems. That evening, he surprisingly invited me into his study. We put our heads together to tackle the last bonus question. I was scribbling calculations on scratch paper when I suddenly looked up, catching Logan staring at me. He had been watching so intently that my sudden movement startled him. “I wasn’t looking at you!” He blurted out before I could say anything. When he saw me with my hair up bustling around the kitchen, he seemed to feel guilty. He put down his phone and came to help me carry dishes. As Logan reached for a plate, our fingertips brushed and he instinctively pulled back. My steaming bowl of fragrant rice crashed to the floor, the porcelain shattering. “That’s all the rice I made. Your portion is gone now.” As we ate, I noticed Logan seemed to want to say something several times. Finally, as he washed dishes and I went to get ice cream from the fridge, he set down the bowl and chopsticks and looked at my back: “I saw you listening to online classes the other day. Are you still in school?” “Mm-hmm.” “So when we first met, you were working part-time to pay for school?” “Mm-hmm.” “…Can you tell me more about yourself?” I looked up at him, ice cream stick in my mouth. The light above Logan’s head was dazzling, casting a halo around him. I was enveloped in his shadow – he looked almost saintly, so unlike the usual emotionless Logan. I suspected the overwork had addled his brain. I hesitated before speaking: “Why are you asking so much? Are you…” “Planning some targeted poverty alleviation?” Our relationship had thawed considerably. The night before quarantine ended, I ordered some late night snacks and opened Logan’s prized collection of liquor. We clinked glasses filled with amber liquid. “It’s been a pleasure working with you. Here’s to my sugar daddy finding his true love soon.” Logan looked at me hesitantly, but still clinked his glass: “Here’s to…” He didn’t know what to wish for me. “To getting rich,” I finished. That demon of a man actually smiled: “Alright, to getting rich.” Empty bottles were scattered across the table and floor. We drank our way from the table to the floor-to-ceiling windows. I skillfully opened bottle after bottle with chopsticks. “You’re quite something, little girl.” Even drunk, Logan’s gaze was sharp. He leaned against the wall, his words as cutting as ever: “That’s why when I first saw you, I thought you were a professional.” I turned my head to look at Logan, flashing him a smile: “You know where you went wrong?” “With your emotional intelligence, you’ll never match up to Jack even if you’re reborn twice.” “If you want to pursue Olivia, do it properly.” “If you truly loved someone, why would you need a substitute?” “Or…are you just insecure? Afraid you can’t measure up to your nephew?” I laughed at that point – how could someone as rich as Logan be insecure? If I had his money, I’d go after whoever I liked without hesitation. He was quite drunk, his shirt a wrinkled mess. He swayed unsteadily as he tried to come teach me a lesson, but he could barely stand. He collapsed into my arms. Propping himself up against me in his drunken haze, he mumbled: “What if I don’t love her…” “Then Aria, do you love me…” Love? Of course I love you. “Of course I love you.” I stroked his cheek tenderly. “Mr. Logan, you’re so rich – Aria White, Aria Black, Aria Rainbow all love you.” He seemed to find that hilarious, letting out a soft chuckle: “As expected of you, Aria.” “I knew early on you were different.” Early on? How early? “That day I saw you gleefully calculating all that money.” “And then I realized, in this very room, you were crying and professing your love for me over and over.” “Your acting skills are quite pleasing, but I know you’re just sweet-talking me. Your heart isn’t in it.” I lowered my eyes. That’s not so early, Mr. Logan. There’s still so much you don’t know. “Why did you agree to be with me?” “I didn’t have money for school. Accepting donations and reciting gratitude speeches in public was humiliating.” It felt like being stripped naked in front of everyone. I was well-developed, and even loose clothes couldn’t hide my figure. When I went on stage to give speeches, those balding middle-aged businessmen would look me up and down, their gazes lingering on my chest, making me uncomfortable. Logan froze for a moment, then said very softly, “I’m sorry.” See, that’s why I say he’s only a demon in the business world. In romance, he can’t even compete with a young upstart like Jack. He doesn’t know how to truly love someone. While Jack was holding hands and going for passionate kisses, Logan was playing the good brother role. All that pent-up passion in his suit was only unleashed on me. Thinking of how he had cornered me in the kitchen to ask about my past, was that pity or guilt on his face? I couldn’t tell. But what difference did it make if he knew? Would he pity or sympathize with me now that he knew? Someone like Logan, who had gained neither benefit nor love, had no right to pity me. So that day I looked up at him very sincerely, ice cream stick in my mouth: “Only a foolish girl who gets neither money nor love is pitiful. I’m only after one of those things – that’s not too greedy, is it?” What difference was there between his condescending pity and the scrutiny when he pinned me to the table? Slightly tipsy from the alcohol, Logan seemed to have fallen asleep, his head resting on my shoulder, his face flushed. The night was hazy with mist. I stroked Logan’s Adam’s apple, feeling it jump sharply under my cold palm. In his half-conscious state, he turned to speak to me, his lips brushing my earlobe, his hot breath tickling my ear. His voice was soft and gentle, like the wind, like mist, like the rain outside. So unlike him. With the cover of his drunkenness and the moonlight, he carefully caressed my cheek: “Aria, I’m sorry for before…”

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The man I’ve been in love with for ten years saw my roommate during a video call and fell for her instantly. Then he asked me to help him win her over. On the phone, his voice was as deep and captivating as ever. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, Lila. Please, help me.” But there wasn’t a trace of pleading in his tone. It was as if he already knew I wouldn’t say no. That’s how it’s always been between us—he’s always been so sure of me. Logan and my roommate were kissing. Their lips locked, their bodies close, completely lost in each other. I stood frozen, watching the scene unfold, feeling like someone had reached into my chest and torn my heart in half. I should’ve known this would happen the moment I agreed to help him pursue her. I should’ve prepared myself for it. But seeing it with my own eyes? It broke me. They were so absorbed in each other that they didn’t even notice me standing there. “Come over to my place tonight?” Logan’s low, husky voice pierced the quiet night. His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and my heart sank into an icy abyss. So, they were already at that stage? My roommate playfully smacked his arm, laughing softly. “What are you talking about? I promised Lila I’d help her with her thesis tonight!” They leaned in closer, their foreheads touching as they exchanged words I couldn’t quite hear, their intimacy painfully obvious even from a distance. When she finally went upstairs, Logan turned around—and saw me. “Lila?” His smile vanished instantly. I stiffened, avoiding his gaze as I fought to keep my emotions in check. Without a word, I turned and headed back to my dorm. The scene I’d just witnessed was too much. The bitterness, the jealousy, and the helplessness wrapped around my chest, suffocating me. I’d been by Logan’s side as his friend for ten years. In all that time, I’d never seen him show even the slightest interest in any woman. To me, he was always distant, rational—so much so that I sometimes wondered if he even saw me as a girl, or just a genderless companion. But tonight… Tonight was the first time I’d ever seen him like this. So full of emotion. And for who? For someone he’d only known for ten days. Ten days. Meanwhile, I’ve loved him for ten years—my entire youth consumed by this silent, unrequited love. When we were in high school, I failed my college entrance exam and couldn’t get into the same university as him. I spent an extra year retaking the test, only to mess up my application and end up in a different city. Throughout college, we barely kept in touch. Now, Logan was just starting to settle into his career, and I was drowning in my final-year thesis. We spoke even less. Every time I tried to visit him, he’d shut me down without hesitation. “Lila, I’m busy,” he’d say. Sometimes, I’d call him on video, desperate for some kind of connection. But no matter how much I wanted to talk, he always had something else to do. I knew I had no right to complain. To him, I was just a friend he’d known for a long time. Ten days ago, my roommate borrowed my phone to take a picture and accidentally stumbled upon a photo of Logan in my gallery. Her finger paused for a moment. Then she smiled. “Who’s this? He’s good-looking. Do you know him, Lila?” I saw the spark of interest in her eyes. I didn’t answer, mumbling some excuse before leaving the room. Even though I knew the chances of them meeting were slim, I couldn’t sleep that night. The fear of losing him—of losing even the fantasy of him—was overwhelming. My roommate was the kind of girl everyone noticed. She was the “it” girl of our department, with a face that was both strikingly beautiful and effortlessly alluring. Her presence alone was enough to draw attention, and her aloof, hard-to-get attitude only made her more desirable. In all four years of college, no one had managed to capture her interest. Until now. All it took was one picture of Logan. The next day, I finally worked up the courage to confess my feelings to Logan. But before I could, he called me. And during that video call, he saw my roommate in the background. I’ll never forget the way his eyes lit up. The way his sharp features softened, his usual guarded expression melting into something I’d never seen before. It was obvious. He’d fallen for her at first sight. The day after the call, Logan called me again. “Lila,” he said, his voice as calm and steady as ever. “I need your help. I really like her.” It was the first time he’d ever asked me for anything. But there was no vulnerability in his voice. No hesitation. He already knew I wouldn’t refuse him. That realization hit me like a wave, the bitterness spreading through every corner of my body. But what could I do? I couldn’t stop him from liking someone else, just like I couldn’t stop myself from loving him. So I said yes. I agreed to help him win over my roommate. What followed was inevitable. I introduced them. They exchanged numbers. And despite always being “too busy” for me, Logan suddenly had all the time in the world for her. He even took three days off work just to visit her. Today was their first official date. And judging by what I just saw, things had clearly progressed faster than I’d expected. When I stepped back into the dorm, my roommate’s voice greeted me. “Lila,” she said, her tone light and cheerful, “Logan and I are officially together.”

“Oh, that’s great,” I replied softly, forcing my voice to stay steady. I returned to my desk, sat down, and opened my laptop to work on my thesis. It took me several tries to type out a single word—”I.” Behind me, my roommate’s voice carried a hint of a smile. “It’s all thanks to you, our favorite matchmaker.” My fingers froze on the keyboard, tightening involuntarily. My chest ached, and my heart clenched so hard it felt like it might shatter. Yes, I had brought them together. It was me who told Logan every little thing my roommate liked—her favorite topics, the kind of humor she enjoyed. It was me who assured my roommate that Logan had never been interested in anyone else, that his feelings for her were rare and genuine. For the past ten days, I watched Logan go out of his way to care for her while she smiled every time she talked about him. I witnessed them fall for each other, piece by painful piece. Late at night, I’d bury my face in my pillow, trying to block out the sound of Logan’s voice messages from her phone: “Be good. Don’t stay up too late. Sweet dreams.” His tone was warm, teasing, with a hint of husky affection—a kind of tenderness I’d never experienced from him. And in that moment, I realized something devastating: I regretted everything. I even thought about lying to him. If I’d told Logan that my roommate already liked someone else, his pride would’ve made him give up immediately. Maybe then I’d still have a chance. “Speaking of which—” My roommate’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. She had walked up behind me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders in a playful hug. “Logan and I decided to treat you to dinner tomorrow as a thank-you. You’ll come, right?” My breath caught in my throat, and instinctively, I wanted to refuse. But she didn’t give me the chance. “Logan’s heading back to work the day after tomorrow, and after we graduate next month, I’ll be moving in with him. This might be one of the last times we all get to hang out together.” Her head rested lightly against my neck, her breath warm against my skin. Her voice was soft, almost coaxing. “It was his idea, too.” … If I still had even the faintest sliver of hope left last night, it was gone now. The next evening, we went to a hotpot restaurant near campus. The broth bubbled and steamed, filling the room with warmth, but I felt none of it. Logan sat across from me, peeling shrimp for my roommate. His head was slightly lowered, his long fingers deftly removing the shells with ease. Every movement was precise, practiced, and deliberate. Suddenly, I remembered something. Logan hated peeling shrimp. He couldn’t stand the slimy, sticky texture—it always disgusted him. Last year, I’d traveled four hours by bus to visit him on his birthday. I brought a cake and clumsily cooked a full dinner for him, even burning my hand in the process. When he saw the red, swollen burn on my hand, his expression grew complicated. “Lila,” he said, his tone flat, “if you don’t know how to cook, then don’t.” Before I could respond, he grabbed my hand and started applying ointment to the burn, his touch careful and gentle. It was one of the only times he’d ever been so kind to me. I remember looking at the plate of boiled shrimp on the table and impulsively asking, “My hand hurts. Will you peel some shrimp for me?” He frowned immediately, his tone sharp. “You know I have a thing about that.” That single sentence shifted the mood entirely. Normally, I wouldn’t have cared, but that day… for some reason, tears welled up in my eyes. The frustration, the disappointment—it all spilled over. In the end, I forced myself to peel the shrimp, ignoring the pain in my blistered hand. Logan sat silently the entire time, watching me. He opened his mouth a few times to say something, but nothing ever came out. Pulled back to the present, I watched as he placed the peeled shrimp onto my roommate’s plate. Then he neatly wiped his hands with a wet napkin and glanced at me. Our eyes met. And in that moment, I understood. He was doing this on purpose. He was showing me, in the most deliberate way possible, that I didn’t matter to him. The scar on my hand from that burn had long since faded, but it felt like he’d reopened the wound tonight, pouring salt into it for good measure. Logan had always known how I felt about him. He knew I didn’t see him as just a friend. This dinner, this entire display—it was his way of making it clear. Stop hoping. Stop dreaming. Don’t interfere with his life anymore. A sharp pain stabbed at my chest, and I lowered my head, avoiding his gaze. My hands trembled as I gripped my chopsticks. The dinner dragged on forever. No matter how much they flirted, I kept my head down, barely saying a word. But then, a sudden commotion broke out nearby. I looked up to see a flustered guy apologizing to Logan. Apparently, he’d lost a dare and had to ask the most beautiful girl in the room for her number—unaware that my roommate already had a boyfriend. Logan’s expression darkened, but he kept his composure in the crowded restaurant. The guy stammered out a few more apologies before retreating, clearly embarrassed. I turned to glance at my roommate. She was as stunning as ever, her flushed cheeks and glistening forehead only adding to her charm. Her lips, slightly swollen from the spice, looked impossibly soft. People around us kept sneaking glances at her, their admiration barely concealed. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a tall figure making his way toward us. A small smile tugged at my lips. For some reason, the knot in my chest loosened slightly. Maybe youth is about taking risks, even when you know better. I glanced at Logan. Sure enough, his expression had grown even darker. Curious now, I put down my chopsticks and sat back, ready to watch the scene unfold. But to my surprise, the guy didn’t stop in front of my roommate. Instead, he walked right past her and came to a halt in front of me. I blinked, startled. He looked directly at me, his eyes bright and sincere. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice a little nervous but steady. “Can I ask you out?” I froze, not sure how to react. Instinctively, I turned to look at Logan. For a split second, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes. And for the first time all night, his expression grew even colder.

For a moment, my mind raced with memories and thoughts. Over the past ten years of silently loving Logan, there were times when I wavered. I had watched him reject confessions from other girls with such cold precision, leaving no room for misunderstanding or hope. So I buried my feelings deep, choosing to stay by his side as a kind, considerate friend. But no matter how much I gave, he never responded. His indifference and restraint were unwavering. The pain of wanting something I could never have, the exhaustion of loving someone who didn’t love me back—it all weighed on me, crushing me bit by bit. When I failed to get into the same university as Logan, everything I’d been holding in finally reached its breaking point. For the first time, I thought about giving up. On the day of our farewell dinner, he didn’t show up. After it ended, one of my classmates confessed to me. I turned him down, but he still insisted on walking me home. I hesitated for a moment. Walking home meant passing by Logan’s house. For some reason, I agreed. The moonlight that night was beautiful. The classmate walked beside me, trying his best to hold a conversation. I answered him politely, but as soon as Logan’s house came into view, I stopped in my tracks. Looking up, I saw him standing on the balcony, watching us with a cold, unreadable expression. Later that night, after I got home and showered, I lay in bed scrolling through my phone. That’s when I saw it: someone had filmed the classmate’s confession and posted it in our group chat. The video was too noisy to make out the words, but the final shot showed me leaving with him. The chat erupted with teasing comments from people who hadn’t been there. And then, Logan messaged me: “Do you want to retake the year?” I instantly understood the implication behind his words. He wanted me to attend the same university as him. He didn’t spell it out, but to me, it felt like a signal—a glimmer of hope. My heart soared, even as it ached. He always seemed to do this: letting me build up disappointment, only to pull me back with a single moment of hope. Now, sitting across from him at dinner, watching him with his new girlfriend, I couldn’t help but wonder: What signal was he sending me now? Before I could figure it out, my roommate shifted in her seat, breaking my line of sight. She reached for Logan’s hand, intertwining her fingers with his. For a brief second, Logan seemed startled. Then he looked down at her, his expression softening, his sharp edges melting away. In that moment, I felt it—the last tiny flicker of hope inside me extinguished completely. But instead of despair, I felt an unfamiliar calm settle over me. I lowered my gaze, pulling my focus away from him, and looked at the boy sitting across from me instead. He wasn’t expecting me to look at him, and when our eyes met, he tensed, clearly nervous. Then, as if on instinct, he repeated the same clumsy question from earlier: “C-Can I… can I ask you out?” The group of onlookers burst into laughter. Someone who knew him teased, “Hey, Noah, aren’t you the one confessing? Why are you asking her to chase you instead?” His face turned bright red, all the way to the tips of his ears. “I-I… I didn’t mean it like that…” he stammered. “Sure,” I interrupted him. The room quieted. This time, I didn’t even glance at Logan to see his reaction. Instead, I kept my eyes on Noah. He froze for a moment, staring at me in disbelief. His throat bobbed as he swallowed nervously, and I could see the flush spreading from his ears to his neck. Unable to stop myself, I smiled. “Sure,” I repeated. I quickly discovered that Noah was the kind of person who blushed easily. After I said yes, he turned so red I thought he might pass out. Without giving me a chance to protest, he grabbed my hand and led me out of the restaurant. We ended up at a nearby dessert shop, where he ordered way too many sweets and placed them in front of me. I stared at him, bewildered, as he fidgeted with his spoon, unable to meet my eyes. After a moment, he finally looked up and gave me a shy smile. “I noticed you didn’t eat much at dinner,” he said. “And… you know, people say dessert makes you feel better.” I looked at him, startled. That dinner—every second of it had been suffocating for me, but somehow, Noah had noticed. He’d seen how uncomfortable I was, how hard I was trying to hide my sadness, and he’d stepped in to pull me away from it all. Something in my chest shifted. It was small, but it was there. And as I took a bite of the dessert, I realized something else: He was right. Sweet things do make you feel better. Later, we walked around the track field, the sunset painting the sky in fiery shades of red and orange. Noah hesitated for a moment before nervously taking my hand. I glanced at him, catching a glimpse of his side profile—his pale skin, the sharp line of his jaw, and his ears still tinged pink from embarrassment. For the first time in a long while, my heart felt light. That feeling lasted until Logan texted me later that night. “Where are you?” I didn’t reply. And he didn’t follow up. I exhaled deeply, as if I were releasing years of pent-up frustration. Noah and I stayed out late. When I finally returned to my dorm, I threw myself into my thesis, editing and formatting until it was ready to send to my professor. Only after hitting “send” did I check my phone again. At 11 p.m., Noah had texted me: “Do you have time tomorrow?” I hesitated for a moment before responding: “I do.” His reply came almost instantly: “Great! Goodnight!” I glanced at the clock. It was already 3 a.m. I stared at his message for a while, a small smile tugging at my lips. As I got ready for bed, I noticed my roommate’s bed was still empty. Her blanket was neatly folded. She hadn’t come back tonight.

The next morning, I slept in until ten. After getting up and washing my face, I stood in front of the mirror to do my makeup. As I applied my lipstick, I heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. My roommate was back. I stared at myself in the mirror, my expression calm, my eyes steady. The last time I caught her and Logan kissing, it felt like my heart had been ripped apart, like my body had been broken into pieces, crushed, and painstakingly put back together again. But last night, when I realized they were together—probably doing something far more intimate than kissing—I didn’t feel that same earth-shattering pain. There was a dull ache, yes, but nothing unbearable. In fact, I’d fallen asleep quickly and slept through the night without dreaming. I wasn’t sure if this meant I was finally letting Logan go, finally letting myself go. But I knew it was a step in the right direction. I pressed my lips together to even out the lipstick just as my roommate’s tired voice broke the silence: “He’s gone back to the office.” I turned toward her and noticed how pale she looked—exhausted, completely drained. I stared at her in surprise, reaching out to feel her forehead, but she turned her face away, avoiding my touch. “I’m fine,” she said quickly. I frowned. She looked straight at me, her voice strained. “I slept with him.”

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By the third year of living with face blindness, the only face I could recognize was Kevin Gray’s. One day, after a cold fight between us, he pushed me into a crowd in front of everyone. “Be good,” he said with a smirk. “Find me, and you can come home with me.” Amid the jeers and laughter, I frantically scanned the sea of faces until I finally found his. I lowered my voice, begging, “I promise I’ll behave. Please don’t leave me.” He pulled me into his arms, whispering softly, “You did great, Ayla.” That night, we stayed together in a hotel. The next morning, I walked out holding his arm, only to come face-to-face with another Kevin standing across the lobby. Nearly hysterical, the man shouted, “Ayla, get off my brother right now!” It was then I realized the man I had been with all night wasn’t Kevin—it was his twin brother, who had just returned from abroad. By the third year of my face blindness, Kevin discovered a new game to amuse himself. He started taking me out to meet his friends and deliberately leaving me behind in the group, delighting in the panic and confusion on my face as I struggled to find him. “Kevin, isn’t tonight your brother’s welcome-back party? You’re still playing this game?” one of his friends asked. The city lights sparkled through the windows as Kevin brought me to yet another party. The room was packed with people, and a young woman sat beside Kevin, clinging to his arm. “I’ve never seen what face blindness looks like,” she said mockingly. “Why don’t you put on a little show for us?” “Maybe next time, when I’m acting,” I replied quietly. Her name was Jenna York, an up-and-coming actress Kevin had taken a liking to recently. Spoiled by his attention, she thought she could do anything. Tonight, she boldly danced her way over to me, her eyes filled with arrogance, assuming Kevin would indulge her whims. But Kevin shot her a cold look. “Make her perform? Who do you think you are?” Jenna’s smug smile froze as tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gray…” she whimpered. Kevin barely glanced at her crying face before grabbing my chin. He studied my blank, expressionless look and laughed dryly. “Ayla, even she knows how to use her tears to please me. Why can’t you learn?” “You’re like a lifeless doll…” After three years of dealing with my face blindness, Kevin’s patience with me was wearing thin. I turned my head slightly, avoiding his touch, trembling with fear at the game I knew was about to begin. “Kevin,” I whispered, “I’m not feeling well. Can we skip the game tonight?” His cold fingers brushed through my hair as he smirked. “No. I’ll be sitting right here. You can come back once you find me.” He shoved me into the crowd. His friends laughed, teasing him. “Aren’t you worried Ayla will run off?” Kevin leaned back, carefree. “Don’t worry. She’s brain-damaged. She can’t remember anyone’s face but mine.”

Before the party, Kevin and I had already argued. I had delivered lunch to the wrong person earlier that day—Kevin’s secretary ended up receiving it. Barely containing his anger, Kevin forced a smile. “Ayla, how can you mess up something so simple?” “Do you have any idea how much trouble I have to clean up because of you?” I apologized and left, but just as I turned the corner, I overheard him talking to his friends. “Kevin, doesn’t her stupidity drive you insane?” Kevin chuckled. “Of course. She can’t even recognize people—she’s dumb as hell. But she got hurt because of me, so I can’t exactly yell at her, can I?” I stormed back and confronted him, and that fight led to tonight’s “punishment.” Cold water and ice suddenly drenched me, snapping me out of my thoughts. The sound of a bucket clattering to the floor was followed by a server’s panicked voice. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!” I stood there, soaked to the bone, looking like a drowned rat in the middle of the grand hall. It seemed like I had terrible luck. At every party, there was always some clumsy server spilling something on me. The young woman handed me a towel and a cup of hot water, pleading, “Miss Ayla, please don’t report me. I really need this job…” Her voice cracked as if she were about to cry. I wiped my face and said hoarsely, “It’s fine. You can go.” I drank the hot water, trying to shake off the chill, when a nearby conversation caught my attention. “Poor thing… She didn’t even realize that server is Jenna’s friend.” “Yeah, and remember Kevin’s birthday? Someone tripped her, and she hurt her knee. That was Jenna’s friend too…” “It’s such a shame. With her face blindness, she can’t see through their games and just keeps getting played.” I froze in place as humiliation boiled inside me like scalding water. “Hey, there she is! Ayla, over here!” Kevin’s friends had spotted me. I lifted my trembling head, staring at the mass of faceless strangers. The sight made me nauseous. Before they could reach me, I turned and stumbled away in the opposite direction.

Something wasn’t right. It felt like someone had slipped something into my drink. The cold air from the ballroom’s air conditioning seeped into my soaked clothes, chilling me to the bone. But no amount of cold could quench the growing heat in my chest. Maybe this was one of Kevin’s new games. He was probably worried I’d leave in a fit of anger, so he resorted to underhanded tactics. I steadied myself against the wall, my fingers trembling, and grabbed the arm of a passing server. “Excuse me, have you seen Mr. Gray?” I asked, my voice shaky. “Mr. Gray?” The server hesitated, then pointed toward a distant room. “He’s in the lounge.” Behind me, I could hear the footsteps of Kevin’s friends drawing closer. Panicked, I shoved open the door to the lounge and stumbled inside, crashing into a firm, steady chest. Strong hands caught me, steadying me. The faint scent of sandalwood filled the air. I looked up and saw Kevin’s familiar face. Tears streamed down my cheeks instantly. “Kevin…” I choked, my voice hoarse with desperation. “I found you. The game… it’s over now, right?” My whole body was trembling, like a lamb that had barely escaped the jaws of a predator. Humiliated. Broken. That was Kevin’s rule. I had to find him before his friends could humiliate me further. Only then would the cruel game end. But tonight, something about Kevin felt different. His eyes were calm, deep, and distant—nothing like the playful arrogance I was used to. He wrapped an arm around my waist and guided me into the quiet room, his voice soft. “You did well,” he said gently.

Kevin led me out through a side door and into the hotel elevator. Along the way, people kept greeting him. “Mr. Gray,” they said respectfully, bowing their heads. I didn’t say a word, staring blankly at the neon lights rising outside the elevator. Kevin was unusually quiet too. He stood behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. That heat sent shivers down my spine. Something was off. Kevin had never exuded such an intense, commanding presence before. And his temperature—it felt higher than normal. The moment we stepped into the hotel room, I spun around and pushed him against the door. “Where’s the antidote?” I demanded. His shirt was damp from my touch, clinging to his well-defined chest. He casually removed his watch, his hand sliding to support my waist as I began to sink to the floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said calmly. The rich scent of sandalwood grew stronger in the dimly lit room, clouding my thoughts. I shoved him away, retreating into the corner, my voice trembling. “Kevin, let’s break up…” I expected him to laugh, to sneer at me and say, “With the way you are, who else would want you?” But he didn’t. Instead, he placed a hand gently on my head, his calloused fingers brushing against my forehead. His voice was low and husky. “If that’s what you want, then fine. But tonight… I’ll help you.” I froze, looking up into his cold, steady eyes. Something about them seemed… off. This wasn’t the Kevin I knew. But before I could think further, the overwhelming heat inside me drowned out all reason. I grabbed his tie and pulled him down, pressing my lips to his. It was probably the boldest, most reckless thing I’d ever done. Tears streamed down my face as I kissed him, pouring all my anger and humiliation into him. Maybe he felt guilty, because he didn’t say a word. He simply let me do whatever I wanted. But after a while, Kevin had enough. He pinned me down on the bed, his teeth clenched in frustration. “Stop moving,” he said, his voice tense. “Just be good.” When he saw my tears falling again, he gently wiped them away and leaned closer, his tone softening. “Ayla, I’ll make you feel better.” His cool lips pressed against mine, tender and lingering. A shiver ran through me, and I let out a sharp gasp. Instinctively, I grabbed a handful of his hair. He let out a low, pained groan, his voice laced with a dark, seductive charm that sent a chill down my spine. “Easy,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “Don’t pull so hard…”

The night had been chaotic and absurd. When I woke up in the morning, the other side of the bed was empty. I buried my face into the pillow, memories of the night before flooding back. Kevin had never been one to care for others, let alone… act like that. It was as if he’d become a completely different person. Dragging my tired body out of bed, I opened the door to find him sitting by the window, conducting a video meeting. The rising sun cast a warm, golden glow across his profile, making him look almost ethereal. Hearing the door open, he turned to glance at me. “You’re awake? Breakfast is on the table,” he said, his tone calm and composed. For some reason, the effortless distance in his voice made me freeze. “Kevin, let’s break up,” I blurted out. The air instantly grew heavy with silence. From the other side of the computer, I heard muffled coughing and awkward whispers. “Mr. Gray… we’ll continue this later.” “We’ll send you the meeting notes shortly.” I froze. Kevin had always said I wasn’t good enough to be seen with him. Yet just now, in front of his company’s board members, he hadn’t even bothered to mute his mic. I braced myself, expecting cruel sarcasm or mockery. Instead, after a brief pause, Kevin smiled faintly. “Alright. Finish your breakfast, and I’ll help you pack your things.” Half an hour later, I followed Kevin downstairs. His assistant approached nervously. “Mr. Gray, there’s an important meeting today—” “Cancel it,” Kevin said, his tone steady and firm. I couldn’t help but feel disoriented. Was he being patient with me just because I was leaving? The back of my eyes stung as I climbed into the car. But the moment I stepped inside, the old injury in my knee flared up. My leg gave out, and I collapsed onto Kevin’s lap, my face pale from the pain. Kevin caught me by the waist without a word. “Take your time,” he said softly. His calm reassurances helped me steady myself. The assistant handed me my phone, saying, “Miss Ayla, your phone’s fully charged.” “Thank you…” As I shifted into my seat, the faint, familiar scent of sandalwood on Kevin’s body brought back memories of the night before. Frowning, I moved further away from him. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. Notification after notification flooded the screen, followed by an incoming call. The name “Kevin Gray” lit up on the screen. Stunned, I instinctively answered. A cold, menacing voice came through the line. “Ayla, are you trying to get yourself killed?” I froze, lifting my head to look at the man sitting in front of me. He was lounging lazily in his seat, lips unmoving, raising an eyebrow at me with a hint of amusement. I turned my gaze to the street outside, where another Kevin stood on the opposite sidewalk, pale as a ghost, clutching a phone. He shouted, his voice nearly hysterical. “Ayla, get away from my brother!”

For a few moments, my mind felt like it had exploded. A loud buzzing filled my ears. I couldn’t hear anything else. “You’re… Kevin’s twin brother?” I stammered. The man in the car smiled faintly. “That’s right. Nice to meet you, Ayla. I’m Lucas Gray.” The blood drained from my face as I remembered the night before—how I’d pinned him to the bed, completely unaware of who he was. Scrambling off his lap in a panic, I nearly fell again. Kevin crossed the street, yanking me roughly out of the car. His jaw was tight with irritation. “Lucas, she didn’t cause you any trouble last night, did she?” Their voices were nearly identical, but Kevin’s carried a youthful edge, tinged with jealousy and suspicion. Tears welled up in my eyes as panic set in. Kevin was already difficult to deal with, and now I’d unknowingly tangled with his twin brother. Who knew what kind of torment these two might put me through? Lucas, on the other hand, seemed calm and collected. He studied me for a moment, then smiled. “Last night? I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” “This morning, I ran into your little girlfriend in the elevator.” “Though… it seems she mistook me for someone else.” His soothing demeanor eased my panic slightly. It felt like he wasn’t trying to toy with me. Lucas turned to me, his tone warm and polite. “Miss Ayla, would you like me to take you home?” Kevin pulled me behind him protectively, his expression darkening. “Lucas, stop joking around. Ayla is my girlfriend. She doesn’t need your help.” Lucas chuckled knowingly, rolling up his window and driving off. As the taillights disappeared around the corner, Kevin’s face turned cold. “Ayla, where were you last night?” My heart pounded as I lowered my head, avoiding his gaze. “I didn’t go anywhere last night.” “Liar.” Kevin leaned in close, his eyes narrowing as he smirked. “So, which one of my friends did you sleep with last night? Just tell me, I won’t get mad.” His words struck a nerve. My face drained of color as I slapped him hard across the face. “For the last time, I didn’t go anywhere!” I shouted. The red imprint of my hand bloomed across his cheek. Kevin laughed coldly. “Relax. I was just joking. Who else would want you but me?” I glared at him, my voice firm. “Kevin, I want to break up.” The humor drained from his face. “Is this because of Jenna?” Kevin pulled out his phone and called her. The moment she picked up, her voice was cheerful. “Mr. Gray, what can I do for you?” “Because of you,” Kevin said coolly, “Ayla wants to break up with me. What do you think I should do about that?” He turned to look at me, his tone unusually soft as he offered, “I’ll blacklist her for you. Would that make you feel better?” Through the phone, Jenna’s voice cracked with a sob as she pleaded. “Mr. Gray, please don’t… I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!” Kevin raised an eyebrow at me, his voice dripping with mockery. “Ayla, you got face blindness because of me. I won’t let you go.” “So stop bringing up this breakup nonsense.” Seeing the disgust on my face, Kevin’s patience snapped. “Jenna, get over here right now and apologize to your ‘sister-in-law.’” “Enough!” I was trembling, tears streaming down my face. “Kevin, I’ve had enough of this. We’re done!” Kevin shoved his hands into his pockets, his face indifferent. “Anything else you want to say?” “If not, go home. Jenna’s crying—I need to go comfort her.”

I moved out of Kevin’s house after all. A few days later, he called me. “So you’re really playing games with me, huh?” His voice was sharp. “Fine, Ayla. Don’t come crying to me later.” Within the first week of our breakup, Kevin and Jenna York appeared on the trending lists eight times. At the office, people whispered behind my back. “He used to treat her like a queen. Now that he’s done with her, she just looks pitiful.” “Well, what do you expect? She can’t even recognize people’s faces. Honestly, being a low-level assistant is probably the best she can do.” They all thought I was drowning in heartbreak. Little did they know, I spent the entire week in a state of unease. Lucas Gray had returned. His office was just a few steps away from my desk, and every day, I couldn’t avoid his calm, steady gaze. Sometimes, I even had to face Kevin directly. It was like being slowly tortured. One afternoon, a storm rolled in, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Rain poured in sheets as my manager tossed a black plastic bag onto my desk. “Address is in your inbox. Mr. Gray wants you to deliver this.” The destination was a five-star business hotel. I sighed, resigned to my fate. This wasn’t the first time Kevin had gone out of his way to make things difficult for me. But if I wanted to keep my job, I didn’t have much of a choice. By the time I arrived at the hotel, the rain had soaked me to the skin. From a distance, I spotted Kevin surrounded by a group of people, talking animatedly. I pushed through the crowd and shoved the black plastic bag into his hands, eager to finish the errand as quickly as possible. “Mr. Gray, here’s what you requested.” He didn’t catch it properly, and the bag fell to the floor with a loud plop. It rolled a couple of times before spilling its contents—contraceptives. The room went dead silent. Every eye in the room turned to me, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief. Kevin raised an eyebrow, calmly bending down to pick up the items. “Apologies, I have something to take care of. Excuse me,” he said smoothly, his tone unfazed. Without missing a beat, he wrapped an arm around my waist and guided me into the lounge. The door clicked shut behind us, the lock turning with a soft snick. That familiar yet unfamiliar scent of sandalwood surrounded me. He let out a low chuckle. “Ayla, this is the second time you’ve mistaken me for my brother.” It took me a full three seconds to process his words. The man standing in front of me was Lucas Gray. Seeing the items in his hands, my face flushed crimson. “S-sorry… I was looking for Kevin.” Lucas’s smile froze for a moment. “Kevin?” he repeated, his tone unreadable. He didn’t say anything more, but the next second, Kevin’s voice drifted in from the adjacent room. “Who told you to bring her here?” he barked, irritation clear in his tone. Jenna’s whiny voice followed, “I just wanted her to see us together. I just wanted to mess with her…” Kevin let out a sharp laugh, and the sound of something crashing echoed through the wall. Jenna’s cries turned into desperate pleas. “You’re pathetic,” Kevin sneered. “Do you really think you can challenge her? Want me to blacklist you?” “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, baby, I was wrong…” Jenna sobbed. “Then get on your knees and take your punishment. When Ayla gets here, remember to cry pretty for her.” I felt like I’d fallen into an ice-cold abyss. My nose stung as I fought back the bitterness swelling in my chest. Even though I had broken up with Kevin, he had no right to let Jenna humiliate me like this. A pair of hands gently cupped my face, pulling me back to the present. “Ayla,” Lucas said softly, “did you hear enough?” “People who can’t stay loyal in a relationship aren’t any better than trash.” For some reason, Lucas seemed unusually cold tonight. His calm demeanor was tinged with an air of unapproachability. The storm outside raged on, wind and rain battering against the windows. His words struck a nerve, and I flinched. The anxiety I’d been suppressing for days finally erupted. “Mr. Gray, that night… I hadn’t broken up with Kevin yet. So doesn’t that make me just as bad?” My voice cracked as I spoke. “Shh…” His lips brushed against mine, soft and cool, silencing my words. Lucas chuckled, his voice low and soothing. “You didn’t mean to. How could you possibly be like him?” “But I—” “You’re different,” he interrupted firmly. “I understand you completely.” Lucas had a way of getting under someone’s skin, of pulling them into his world with just a few words. Before I even realized it, I was sitting on his lap, breathless from the kiss. In the dim light, Lucas’s eyes gleamed with quiet amusement. “While Kevin’s off fooling around, shouldn’t you enjoy yourself too?” he murmured. “What do you want me to do, Ayla? Use the gift you brought me?” He looked every bit the gentleman in his tailored suit, yet his words made my heart race. Before I could respond, his lips brushed against the side of my neck, making me gasp involuntarily. Panicked, I clapped a hand over my mouth. The noise from the adjacent room abruptly stopped. Then my phone lit up with an incoming call. Kevin’s name flashed on the screen. Lucas glanced at the phone, a quiet laugh escaping his lips. He answered it for me. “Ayla, where are you? What are you doing?” Kevin’s voice was sharp with suspicion. Lucas held the phone to his ear, his voice calm and composed. “What do you think she’s doing?” Perhaps the thunder drowned out his voice, because Kevin didn’t seem to recognize it. All he heard was the mocking provocation. “Who the hell are you?” Kevin roared. “You dare mess with me, Kevin Gray?” Jenna’s startled yelp echoed faintly in the background, followed by the sound of something shattering. Meanwhile, Lucas remained unbothered, his tone laced with amusement as he whispered near my ear. “Ayla, I’m not forcing you to choose.” “But tell me—after experiencing something better, why would you go back to trash?” “Be honest. Am I not enough for you?” My face burned as red as the setting sun. “You… how can you say things like that?” I stammered, flustered. Lucas’s steady demeanor made it all the more maddening. From the other side of the wall, Kevin’s anger exploded. “You better shut up! I’ll kill you if you don’t!” he screamed, slamming his fist against the wall. Lucas merely chuckled, his voice low and teasing. “Go ahead. Try me.”

This was, without a doubt, Lucas Gray’s boldest move yet. If his assistant hadn’t called midway to pull him away, I wouldn’t have known how to handle him. Before leaving, Lucas brushed his hand against my flushed cheek and gently reminded me, “Kevin’s locked up over there. No need to rush out. Just take your time and rest.” I could still hear the furious banging on the next door as I sat in the lounge, gathering myself. It took me a while to get up, fix my clothes, and leave in search of something to eat. The server outside the door was clearly one of Lucas’s people—each wore matching golden name tags pinned to their uniforms, making it easier for me to identify them. They led me to a quiet corner of the venue. “Miss Ayla,” one of them said politely, “Mr. Gray asked us to tell you to wait here for him. He’ll take you home tonight.” “…Alright,” I murmured, nervously curling my fingers. The faint sensation of his touch lingered on my skin, teasing and addictive. Maybe I was still too lost in the haze of what had just happened to notice someone approaching. That is, until a glass of red wine was suddenly dumped over me, pulling me sharply out of my thoughts. “I’m so sorry, Miss Ayla!” The woman stammered, feigning panic. “I saw your glass was empty and thought I’d refill it for you. I didn’t mean to spill it!” My hair dripped with wine as I stared at her chest. Her dark uniform was bare—no golden name tag. I immediately understood. She was Jenna York’s friend, pulling the same tricks as before. Without hesitation, I grabbed her by the hair and dragged her screaming into the crowd. “Where’s Jenna?” I demanded. “Jenna!” she shrieked, clutching at my wrist. “Help me! She’s hurting me!” A hand abruptly grabbed my forearm, stopping me. The voice was sharp, haughty, and unmistakable. “Miss Ayla, let go of my friend.” I turned to face her, studying her closely. Her features blurred in my mind, impossible to piece together. I’d searched for her so many times before, but she always hid behind others, laughing as they played their games with me. But this time, she’d walked right into my hands. In front of everyone, I kicked her hard in the knee. The dull thud echoed across the room as Jenna collapsed to the floor, clutching her leg in pain. Her face paled as she cried out. “Does it hurt?” I asked softly. I thought about my own knee, the one that ached every time it rained, and added, “Mine hurts too.” “When you had your friend trip me, you should’ve known this day would come.” Jenna bit her lip, tears streaming down her face as she stared at the ground. Footsteps approached from behind. Kevin appeared suddenly, grabbing me by the neck and slamming me onto a nearby table. His face was dark with anger. “Ayla,” he growled, “do you have any idea she’s an actress? How is she supposed to work if you injure her leg?” I stared back at him, my eyes burning with rage. “And my leg? Did you care when it hurt?” Jenna crawled toward Kevin, wrapping her arms around him. “Don’t blame her, Kevin… It’s my fault,” she whispered. Her voice trembled as she confessed, “That night, I spiked the drink I gave you. But Ayla drank it instead.” Kevin’s expression froze. “What did you just say?” Jenna cowered under his glare, tugging at his sleeve nervously. “I’m sorry… I just love you so much. I didn’t mean to hurt Ayla…” Her meaning was undeniable. That night, the night I couldn’t remember, I was with someone else. Kevin’s gaze darkened as he scanned the room, his eyes falling on his group of friends. Grabbing me by the hair, he yanked me close. “Which one of them was it, Ayla?” Pain shot through my scalp as I struggled against his grip, my nails scratching his face in the process. Wiping the blood from his cheek, Kevin smiled—a chilling, twisted smile. “Your lover must have some guts to challenge a Gray. Thanks to him, Ayla, you’re going to play another game.” Without hesitation, he shoved me into the crowd. I fell to my knees, the sharp pain shooting through my leg bringing tears to my eyes. He stood over me with a cruel smirk. “You’re dirty now. This time, I won’t ask my friends to show you any mercy.” The Grays were powerful, and this wasn’t the first time Kevin had played such a game. The onlookers quickly stepped back, unwilling to get involved. As the sound of footsteps closed in behind me, I clenched my fists and forced myself to stand. I scanned the crowd desperately, searching for Lucas. But Kevin and Lucas looked so alike—it was impossible to tell them apart. Every time I grabbed Kevin’s sleeve, he’d laugh and push me back into the crowd. “Ayla, stop looking for me,” he sneered. “I don’t want you anymore.” On my final attempt, I pushed through the crowd and flung open the door, crashing into someone’s arms. The familiar scent of sandalwood washed over me, and my tense body finally relaxed. My legs gave out beneath me. Lucas caught me instinctively, holding me steady. Kevin, who had been watching from the sidelines, burst into laughter. “Ayla, wrong again,” he taunted. “That’s my brother.” Lucas looked down at my disheveled state, the warmth in his eyes vanishing. In its place was a cold, piercing sharpness. Kevin, oblivious to the shift in Lucas’s demeanor, strolled over lazily. “You’re such a pain. Why do you always mix us up?” He smirked, glancing at Lucas. “Hey, want to join in? She can’t tell the difference anyway. Isn’t she into two-timing? Let her have her fill.” Lucas shrugged off his jacket and draped it over me, his movements deliberate and calm. Then, he slowly rolled up his sleeves and walked toward Kevin. Kevin chuckled, still full of bravado. “What about that guy she was with the other night?” he jeered. “Where’d he go? Why isn’t he stepping up now?” Lucas stopped in front of him, his expression unreadable. With a casual motion, he reached out and grabbed a fistful of Kevin’s hair. Kevin’s cocky grin twisted into a scream as Lucas forced him to his knees. The room fell silent except for Kevin’s pained cries. Lucas’s voice was low and steady, carrying a chilling undertone. “Her man is here.” He leaned in closer, his smile razor-sharp. “Do you have something to say?” Everyone Says Lucas Gray Is Polite and Charming—But How Could a Man Who Took the Gray Corporation to the Top Be Easy to Reason With? That night, I saw Lucas lose his temper for the first time. The moment it happened, his assistant had already led security in to clear the room. With his usual calm demeanor, Lucas addressed the guests. “Apologies, this is a private family matter. I’ll have to ask you all to step outside for now while I handle it.” Kevin, still dazed from the sudden turn of events, looked up at his brother in disbelief. “Lucas… what are you talking about?” The security team took over, holding Kevin down as Lucas let go of him. Lucas pulled out a handkerchief, meticulously wiping his hands without so much as glancing at Kevin. “The person I just spent hours calming down—this is how you treat her?” His tone was cold, detached. Kevin’s gaze darted to my face, realization dawning on him. His expression turned ashen. “So… it was you that night,” he stammered. “Lucas, listen to me…” Kevin’s voice grew frantic. “She has face blindness! She mistook me for you! You’re not the type of man who’d settle for being mistaken for someone else!” I felt my chest tighten, and I instinctively looked away, guilt gnawing at me. Lucas tossed the handkerchief aside, his voice eerily calm. “If Ayla can’t tell us apart, then maybe I should solve that problem for her. Let’s start by leaving a scar on your face. That should make things easier.” Kevin froze, staring at Lucas in shock. “Lucas, you can’t be serious…” But when he realized Lucas wasn’t joking, panic set in. “Lucas! You can’t just ignore the rules! Ayla’s my girlfriend!” he shouted. Lucas tilted his head slightly, as if Kevin had just told him a joke. “Rules?” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “I don’t believe in rules—whether it’s business or love.”

y the time security dragged Kevin out of the room, he had fainted from the sheer stress of it all. Jenna York, however, was still clinging to her last shred of hope. Lucas glanced at her, his tone sharp and cutting. “Miss York, I hear you enjoy spiking drinks?” Jenna shook her head furiously, terror written all over her face. Before she could say another word, a guard pressed her firmly down by the shoulders. Lucas’s lips curved into a faint smile as he said, “Call the police. Congratulations, Miss York—your acting career is officially over.” That night, I was a mess—not only emotionally but physically. My knee injury flared up again, and I developed a fever. On the way to the hospital, I curled up in the corner of the car, refusing to look at Lucas. Not a single word passed between us. It wasn’t until he carried me into the hospital room that I tried to resist, pushing at his chest weakly. But Lucas held my hands down gently, his voice low and steady. “Ayla, don’t be afraid of me.” And just like that, the floodgates opened. I couldn’t stop myself from trembling. It wasn’t Lucas I was afraid of, nor Kevin. It was the stark realization that I was utterly powerless in front of either of them. I was nothing more than an object, something to be fought over and discarded at will. And maybe, for the rest of my life, I’d have to rely on someone else’s pity and generosity just to survive. Lucas didn’t say anything else. He stayed with me until late into the night. When his assistant quietly knocked on the door, Lucas stood up, put on his coat, and prepared to leave. Before walking out, he turned back one last time. “Ayla,” he said softly. “I’m not Kevin. If the day ever comes when you want to leave, I won’t stop you.” “I’ll always respect your choices.” With that, the door shut quietly behind him. I buried my face in the hospital blanket, memories flashing through my mind like an old film reel. The first time I met Kevin was during a college event. Back then, I was a star student in forensic psychology, known for my sharp memory and exceptional sketching skills. When the school announced that I’d been selected to represent the graduating class as a keynote speaker, it felt like the culmination of all my hard work. Kevin, fresh out of college and still a reckless playboy, had been sitting in the audience. He claimed it was love at first sight and began pursuing me relentlessly after that. No girl could resist the kind of romance a rich heir could offer, and I was no exception. But when he finally confessed his feelings, I hesitated. I had plans to study abroad for my master’s degree. Kevin, with his impulsive nature, wasn’t the type to handle long-distance relationships. When I brought it up, he surprised me by saying he understood. “Before you leave, let me take you out for one last dinner,” he’d said. That night, we were in a car accident. Because of where I was sitting, I took the brunt of the impact. My injuries were severe, and I was rushed into surgery. As an orphan, I didn’t have any family to call. When my professors and classmates arrived at the hospital, they found Kevin covered in blood, waiting outside the operating room. The doctors told him there was a chance I’d never wake up, that I might end up in a vegetative state. Without hesitation, Kevin said he’d marry me, no matter what. When I finally woke up, I learned that the accident had damaged my brain. I couldn’t recognize faces anymore. My once-sharp memory had dulled to the point of being useless. The professor who had been planning to supervise my graduate studies emailed me, expressing his regret. “Miss Ayla,” he wrote, “prosopagnosia makes it impossible for you to be a criminal profiler.” And just like that, my future was gone. The bright, promising forensic psychology student was reduced to nothing more than Kevin Gray’s girlfriend. People said I was lucky—that an orphan like me had managed to “marry up” after a car accident. But only I knew what I’d lost. Day by day, my wings were clipped. My ambition, my dignity, my spirit—everything was worn down to nothing.

During my recovery, Lucas Gray seemed busier than ever. Every day, his assistant would deliver flowers to my room, always starting with the same ritualistic introduction: “Miss Ayla, I’m Mr. Gray’s assistant.” By the day before I was set to be discharged, the assistant came again, but this time his expression was hesitant. “Miss Ayla, Mr. Gray has been…” He trailed off, as though carefully choosing his words. I looked up at him, half-expecting him to say something like, “Mr. Gray hasn’t been eating properly and his stomach’s acting up.” Instead, he surprised me. “Mr. Gray has been thinking about you every day,” he said. “He’s been wondering when you’d be willing to see him.” “He knows that the way he acted that day was, well… overbearing. Like a brute. But that wasn’t his intention.” “He’s hoping you’ll give him a chance to explain.” As he finished, the assistant added in a lower voice, almost conspiratorial: “And just so you know, Mr. Gray never does anything illegal. He’s a law-abiding citizen, through and through.” Lucas seemed to know me too well, like he could see right into my thoughts. He understood exactly what I was afraid of. After thinking it over, I decided to meet him. When I arrived at the restaurant, I saw Lucas again. Today, he looked… different. There was something refined, almost regal, about his appearance, and for the first time, I couldn’t help but notice how good-looking he was. As I tried to figure out what had changed, he smiled. His tone was calm and gentle. “I asked you here today to talk about your future plans.” I hadn’t expected him to get straight to the point. He slid a perfectly cut piece of steak onto my plate, his voice soft. “You didn’t get to finish your education. Do you still want to go back to school?” Hearing the word “school” after so many years made my eyes sting. “I… I can’t,” I said, my voice barely audible. “Because of the face blindness?” I nodded. “Then treat it. And if it can’t be cured, switch fields. Don’t tell me you never brought this up with Kevin.” I had, in fact. But Kevin had brushed me off, saying, “Ayla, how much money do you think you have? Without me, how could you afford the tuition? Isn’t it enough to just stay by my side? Being my girlfriend isn’t such a bad deal, is it?” I lowered my gaze. “No other programs are willing to waive my tuition.” In the most difficult years of my life, I’d lost the one skill I was most proud of. With my inability to recognize faces, even finding a job was a struggle—let alone going back to school. But I also knew that this moment, sitting across from Lucas, felt like a second chance. Taking a deep breath, I asked, “Are you offering to send me back to school?” A genuine smile lit up his face. “Yes. But Ayla, let’s keep emotions out of this. If I’m going to sponsor you, I expect something in return.” My hands clenched under the table, bracing for the worst. But Lucas simply smiled and continued: “Setting emotions aside, I want a capable partner—someone with expertise in psychology. I hope that person will be you.” The words I’d feared never came. The waiter opened the windows, and the warm summer breeze swept in, carrying the scent of blooming flowers. For the first time, I felt truly seen—not as a burden, not as someone to pity, but as a person. I smiled, a genuine smile that I hadn’t felt in years. “Alright.” Lucas’s assistant brought out a contract. In clear black-and-white terms, it outlined our arrangement: Lucas would fund my education, and once I graduated, I’d work as a psychological consultant for his company for three years. It wasn’t an unreasonable deal, but it definitely wasn’t an easy one either. The assistant added, “The Gray Foundation treats all scholarship recipients equally, Miss Ayla. If you have any concerns, feel free to raise them.” I shook my head. “This is more than fair.” With shaky hands, I signed my name beside Lucas’s bold signature. After the assistant left, I noticed Lucas was still staring at me. “Do you… have something else to say?” I asked cautiously. He leaned back, his demeanor shifting from professional to playful. “Now, let’s talk about something less… logical.” “Ayla, I’m twenty-eight, and I’ve always been a man of discipline. That night was my first time.” My face instantly turned as red as a tomato. “You… you can’t just say that!” I stammered, my eyes darting around to make sure no one had heard him. Lucas tapped the table lightly, unfazed. “Well, considering how many people in the world are, let’s say, ‘used up,’ I suppose being taken advantage of isn’t the worst thing.” “You don’t want me, and I can’t force you to. But still, I lost my precious first time. From now on, I’ll probably be a broken, loveless man.” I couldn’t take it anymore. Bursting out of my seat, I rushed over to him and clamped my hands over his mouth. “Stop talking!” He raised an eyebrow, his expression clearly amused. “What do you want me to do, then?” The implication in his words made my face burn even hotter. I quickly pulled my hands away, like I’d touched something scalding. “I… I’ll take responsibility,” I mumbled. Lucas smiled, his voice soft and teasing. “Well, that’s the best news I’ve heard all day.” By now, I’d figured him out. Lucas had a clear line between business and personal matters. Money debts were money debts, and emotional debts were emotional debts. But the way he went about settling emotional debts? That was a whole different story. It wasn’t until he pulled me into his car that I realized something felt off. “Wait,” I said. “Something about this logic feels… weird.” Lucas leaned back in his seat, completely at ease. “It’s fine. I’m not insisting that you take responsibility.” “If you want to curse me out for being shameless or say I deserved it, that’s entirely your choice.” “After all, I’m the one who got involved in this mess. It’s my fault for loving someone who doesn’t love me back—” Before he could finish, I slapped my hand over his mouth again, my voice trembling with embarrassment. “I already said I’ll take responsibility!”

I never expected Lucas Gray to act so quickly. Just a few days later, headlines about Kevin’s upcoming arranged marriage were plastered across every major media outlet. But strangely, there wasn’t a single word of congratulations. I sat at my desk, halfway through proofreading a report, while gossip about Kevin’s engagement kept drifting into my ears. “I heard the bride-to-be from the Yates family has… unusual habits.” “Unusual? How so?” “She’s got three sisters.” “And?” “They like to… do everything together.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Well, let’s just say Kevin won’t be the only one in their marriage—” The gossip abruptly stopped when Lucas appeared in the office doorway. He called my name, “Ayla, come with me.” Still preoccupied with thoughts of Kevin’s engagement, I didn’t even notice Lucas locking the door behind us. By the time I snapped out of it, I was already in his arms. “Ayla,” he said, holding me close, “take a look at these professors and tell me which one you’d prefer.” It turned out that the emails I’d sent out had received responses. Several professors were interested in taking me on as a student. Without hesitation, I picked the mentor I’d always admired. The paperwork would take about six months to complete, and during that time, I’d be going abroad for treatment. As I finalized my decision, I suddenly realized how close Lucas and I were. Our position felt… too intimate. I awkwardly moved my neck and muttered, “I… I’m feeling a little warm.” “That’s normal,” Lucas replied casually. “I didn’t turn on the AC.” With practiced ease, he reached for the zipper of my dress and pulled it down. “Ayla,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, “I don’t have much time left. Before you leave, I need to make sure I leave a lasting impression…” His lips brushed against my skin, soft and deliberate. “…So that even three years from now, you’ll still remember me.” I had to admit, Lucas was very… dedicated. With just a few words, he had me completely disarmed, my rationality slipping away as I clung helplessly to the desk. Somewhere in the haze, he slipped a black card into my hand. The back of the card bore his signature in elegant script. I weakly pushed it back at him, muttering, “I don’t want it…” “It feels weird… like… like you’re trying to keep me…” Before I could finish, Lucas silenced me with another kiss, his eyes dark and stormy. “Are you saying…” His voice was barely audible, but it carried an edge. “You think I’m trying to keep you?” “…Aren’t you?” I shot back. Lucas’s tone was light, almost indifferent. “This card contains everything I own. My entire fortune.” “I didn’t realize you thought me capable of being so reckless—throwing my entire net worth at someone just to keep them.” Tears welled up in my eyes as I stammered, “What… what are you trying to do? Are you asking me to marry you or something?” Lucas let out a laugh—low, soft, but tinged with exasperation. “Ayla, you didn’t hear a word I said last night, did you?” Seeing my confused expression, he smiled to himself. “Well, I should’ve guessed.” “I must’ve been too indulgent, making you so happy you couldn’t hear a thing.” He leaned in and whispered, “So, let me say it again: Ayla, please marry me.” That’s the last clear memory I have of that day. I lost control after hearing those words and ended up making an absolute mess of Lucas’s office. By the time he was cleaning up, I was curled up on the couch, my face burning with embarrassment. Lucas, ever the problem-solver, handled it all without a word of complaint. I decided to play dead, refusing to acknowledge what had just happened. And so, the proposal was left unresolved. As I left the office that evening, I noticed commotion outside the neighboring building. A coworker tugged at my sleeve. “Ayla, look! It’s Jenna York—that web series actress.” Following their gaze, I saw Jenna pinned to the ground by several large men. A woman stood over her, delivering a series of sharp slaps to her face. “On your knees,” the woman said lazily, her voice dripping with disdain. “Lick it clean.” I glanced down and noticed a coffee stain on the woman’s expensive shoes, which also marred her designer dress. Jenna sobbed, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to… I just wanted to see Kevin!” “I never said you did it on purpose,” the woman replied coldly. “I’m simply telling you to clean it up. What’s wrong with me wanting to bully you?” It didn’t take long for me to piece together what had happened. Jenna had tried to pull another one of her stunts, spilling coffee to humiliate Kevin’s fiancée. But this time, her target was Luna Yates—a woman from one of the most prestigious families in the country. Unlike me, Luna wasn’t someone who could be easily manipulated. With her notorious reputation and sharp instincts, she wasn’t about to let Jenna off the hook. By the time Jenna was dragged into a car, her face was swollen beyond recognition. A coworker shuddered beside me. “Kevin can barely protect himself right now. Jenna’s just a small-time actress with no connections. Falling into Luna’s hands… she’s as good as finished.” As Luna walked to her car, she caught sight of me. Her head tilted slightly, and then, to my surprise, she started walking toward me. “Miss Ayla,” she said with a faint smile. “Let’s have a chat.” …

Summer had fully arrived in Westbridge, the city sweltering under the relentless heat. Lucas Gray had been so busy lately that I hadn’t seen him for days. The last time we spoke was on the phone two nights ago, and even his assistant, Mr. Carter, had been conspicuously absent. Of course, I had plenty to keep me occupied. Between preparing school applications, studying for entrance exams, and finally escaping the endless parade of parties and social obligations, my life had started to feel surprisingly full. That evening, as I went downstairs to take out the trash, I noticed a familiar car parked by the curb. All my exhaustion evaporated in an instant. I jogged over and tapped on the window. When it rolled down, I smiled brightly. “You didn’t tell me you were coming—” Before I could finish, the man inside interrupted me. “Ayla, it’s hot out here. Get in the car; I’ll explain everything,” he said coolly, his tone somehow… off. Confused, I climbed into the passenger seat. As I buckled my seatbelt, I couldn’t help but mumble, “Why didn’t you send me a message?” “Because I wanted to surprise you,” he replied. I froze mid-motion, my eyes locking onto his hands as a chill crept down my spine. The doors locked with a soft click as the car pulled out of the lot. “Ayla, seatbelt,” he reminded me gently. Snapping back to reality, I slowly clicked the seatbelt into place. Beneath the seat, my trembling fingers quickly typed out a text to the police, sharing my location before hitting send. Lucas would never say something as contrived as “I wanted to surprise you.” The man next to me could only be Kevin. As the car sped down the highway, the city lights grew sparse, replaced by the desolate emptiness of the outskirts. My heart sank deeper with every mile. “I’m feeling a little tired…” I said softly, leaning my head against the window. Kevin glanced at me, startled. “Tired? We just left. Hang in there a little longer, okay?” “I can’t,” I murmured weakly. “You have a house in the countryside, don’t you? Can we go there instead?” Lucas did have a house in the countryside—an empty property he rarely used. It was the one address I knew that could buy me some time. Kevin’s expression darkened, suspicion flickering in his eyes. “Why there?” he asked coldly. I bit my lip, forcing myself to smile as I reached for his hand. “You tell me,” I said lightly. “Last time, didn’t you say you wanted me to dance for you?” Kevin stilled, his grip on the wheel tightening. I knew him too well. He was vindictive to the core. Whatever he planned to do to me tonight, the thought of using Lucas’s property to exact his revenge was something he couldn’t resist. As expected, he smirked and shifted lanes. “Not a bad idea, Ayla,” he said, his tone laced with mockery. “Making you happy is more important than any surprise.” He turned on the indicator and took the exit off the highway. Meanwhile, I used the last bit of battery on my phone to send the villa’s location to the police. The screen flickered and went dark. As the final rays of sunlight dipped below the horizon, the reflection of my pale face stared back at me from the car window. The moment we stepped into the villa, Kevin grabbed me from behind, pressing his lips to the back of my neck. “Ayla,” he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. “What dance are you going to perform for me?” His hands roamed, his movements impatient and possessive. Ignoring my weak protests, he grabbed my shoulders and pushed me against the table. The mix of cologne and alcohol clinging to him made my stomach churn. For the first time, I felt an overwhelming sense of disgust at his touch. “Wait…” I gasped. “I can’t dance like this…” Kevin let out a low laugh. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice tinged with madness. “Let’s get straight to the main event.” He seemed unhinged, his paranoia and obsession driving him to the brink. I stiffened, then sank my teeth into his forearm as hard as I could. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. Kevin froze. From behind me, his cold, mocking voice whispered in my ear. “So, you do know it’s me.” I spun around, trying to escape, but he caught my arm and slammed me back down onto the table. His face, identical to Lucas’s, twisted into something grotesque and monstrous. “If you know,” he sneered, “that makes this even more exciting.” “Isn’t this what you like? Getting stolen away? Screwing you in my brother’s house… I bet you’re into that too, aren’t you?” His words sent a chill down my spine, and I suddenly recalled what Luna Yates had told me: “Kevin is nothing but trouble. If he escapes my family’s grasp, it won’t hurt me, but I can’t guarantee your safety.” “And, Ayla, his mental state isn’t the most stable.” I had no idea how long it would take for the police to arrive. All I could do was stall for time. “Where were you planning to take me?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Back to my place,” he replied, his lips grazing my cheek. “Where I can keep you locked up.” His words sent a shiver through me. “Idiot,” he muttered, grabbing my chin and forcing me to face him. “You really think Lucas cares about you? He doesn’t love you—it’s all about winning. You’re just part of his game.” I was too weak to fight back, pinned against the table and gasping for air. Kevin leaned closer, his voice dripping with malice. “Why aren’t you crying, Ayla? Your precious Lucas doesn’t want you anymore!” I took a shaky breath, my voice hoarse and strained. “Kevin,” I rasped, “I’m not waiting for Lucas to save me.” “What?” The faint sound of sirens echoed from outside. Gripping his wrist tightly, I twisted just enough to free myself slightly. “I’ve spent so long in a cage that I forgot how to fight back.” “But I’m done being helpless.” Summoning the last of my strength, I dug my nails into his arm, hard enough to draw blood. The sound of the police breaking down the door filled the air. Kevin’s eyes widened in fury. “You called the cops?!” he roared. I smiled faintly. “Kevin, you shouldn’t have come alone.” “Did you underestimate me? Or overestimate yourself?” The door burst open. Grabbing the blade I had hidden earlier, I slashed it across Kevin’s face. At the same time, I tore at my collar and clutched his hand, holding it against me. With tears streaming down my face, I screamed, “Help! He’s trying to assault me!” That night, the last thing I said to Luna Yates was: “Miss Yates, do me a favor, and I’ll return it by making sure Kevin ends up behind bars.”

Kevin’s face was completely ruined. As the police shoved him into the squad car, he thrashed like a rabid dog, barking threats in my direction. “Ayla, don’t think I’ll forget this!” he screamed. “When I get out, you’re dead!” I sat on the stone steps outside the villa, my clothes disheveled, blood trickling from the cuts on my neck. Fixing my gaze on him, I replied calmly, “You’re not getting out. I’ll make sure of it. Everything you’ve done to me—I’ll tell the police every last detail.” “There were plenty of witnesses back then. Now that you’ve lost the power you had in the Gray family, I’m sure at least one or two people will finally come forward.” Kevin thrashed harder, his eyes burning with fury. “Ayla, you b—” Before he could finish, the officers slammed the car door shut, cutting him off. The flashing red and blue lights faded into the distance, leaving the villa shrouded in silence. It was then that I noticed Lucas standing across from me. He walked over, draped his jacket over my shoulders, and crouched in front of me to disinfect the cuts on my neck with a cotton swab. The emotions I’d been holding back all night suddenly broke free. My body trembled as I leaned forward, wrapping my arms around him. “How long were you here?” I whispered. Lucas hesitated for a moment before answering, “Since the moment I got your text.” His phone had received a message from me—a simple address, followed by two words: Wait for me. There hadn’t been time for us to coordinate or plan. But just those two words were enough. Even though he’d seen everything unfold, he hadn’t intervened or acted rashly. This night had played out exactly as I’d designed it—a trap meant to end Kevin once and for all. If Lucas had stepped in earlier, it would’ve ruined everything. Closing my eyes, I leaned against him, finally letting my tears fall. “For a moment back there, I was terrified,” I admitted shakily. “I know,” Lucas murmured, gently patting my back. “But you handled it perfectly.” I thought back to the moment I saw Luna Yates slap Jenna around like she was nothing. That was when I realized that sometimes, survival means knowing when to rely on others. Luna owed me a favor now. Someday, she’d repay it in her own way. As I rested against Lucas’s chest, I noticed something I hadn’t before—his hands were trembling. “Lucas, you…” “Shh…” he interrupted softly, burying his face in the crook of my neck. “Ayla, don’t say anything.” On the drive back, Lucas held my hand tightly, never letting go. He seemed utterly exhausted, his head resting against the seat as he dozed off. Under the dim glow of passing streetlights, I noticed the bruises under his eyes for the first time. After hesitating for a moment, I sent a text to his assistant, Mr. Carter. Me: “Has Lucas been working a lot lately?” A few minutes later, Carter replied: Carter: “Yes. The company’s been dealing with some trouble—caused by Mr. Kevin, of course. Mr. Gray hasn’t had a proper night’s sleep in days.” Carter (continued): “Just this morning, the police came, trying to arrest Mr. Gray on false charges of corporate fraud. Thankfully, we cleared things up in time.” It suddenly made sense why I couldn’t reach him earlier. Kevin had even stolen Lucas’s car to pull off his latest stunt. I typed another message: Me: “Are Lucas and Kevin… not on good terms?” This time, it took Carter three full minutes to reply. Carter: “Their relationship is… extremely strained. For one, Mr. Gray’s exile overseas years ago had a lot to do with Mr. Kevin’s meddling.” So the harmonious “brotherly bond” the Gray family liked to present to the world was nothing but a façade, hiding years of betrayal and power struggles. Carter: “Miss Ayla, Mr. Gray had just gotten back from dealing with the police when he saw your text. I imagine it was a lot for him to handle on top of everything else. I’m tied up at the moment—can I ask you to keep an eye on him tonight?” I glanced at Lucas, his hand still gripping mine even in his sleep. Me: “Got it. I’ll take care of him.”

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When my girlfriend was at her lowest, I broke up with her. Years later, after she found success and fame, she used every means possible to marry me. Everyone said I was her one true love, her most treasured husband. But in reality, every night she brought a different man home, shattering my heart and turning me into a laughingstock. I never fought back. I never cried or argued. I simply moved into the study, quietly staying out of her way. She hated that. One night, furious, she kissed me roughly and whispered, “Aren’t you jealous?” What she didn’t know was that I was sick. While she spent each day trying to hurt me, I was silently counting down how many days I had left to live. In the third year of our marriage, my wife, Claire, started keeping a young, handsome college student. His name was Ryan. He was tall, good-looking, and exactly Claire’s type. She kept him around for over six months—longer than any of the others. My friends warned me to be careful. They said Claire seemed genuinely attached to Ryan. The first time I met him was on my birthday. That morning, I’d woken up with a nosebleed that wouldn’t stop. At the hospital, the doctor told me I probably wouldn’t live past spring next year. I nodded calmly and said, “That’s fine.” I wasn’t afraid of dying—I just didn’t want it to hurt. There was an expensive medication that could ease the pain, but I didn’t have enough money to afford it. So, I went to Claire’s office to ask for help. That’s where I ran into Ryan. He had just graduated and was working as Claire’s assistant. Claire was in a meeting, so I sat in the lobby to wait. Ryan kept glancing at me, then leaned over to whisper to his coworkers, “So, that’s the husband? He looks awful—so skinny and sickly, like he’s on his deathbed.” He laughed and added, “People say I look like him, but I don’t see it. I’m way better looking.” I caught my reflection in the glossy glass wall. Messy hair, a puffy coat that made me look even frailer. He wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t much to look at—just a man waiting to die. A coworker nudged him and whispered, “Don’t underestimate him. If he cleaned up, you wouldn’t even compare. And don’t forget, Claire loves him. If you piss him off, she’ll destroy you.”

Ryan wasn’t convinced. He rolled his eyes and smirked. He brought me a cup of tea and asked mockingly, “So, Mr. Baker, why is Claire making you wait so long? It’s weird—whenever I stop by, no matter how busy she is, she always makes time for me. She says I’m her priority.” He smiled smugly, and for a moment, I saw a bit of my younger self in him. I thought about it. Claire did treat Ryan differently. She’d had countless lovers over the years, using them as pawns in her game to provoke me. Every night, she brought home someone new, testing my limits. But she never kept them around for long. A day or two, maybe a week. She always got bored quickly. Ryan, though, was different. She spoiled him. She took him out to dinner, shopping, and movies. They acted like an ordinary, happy couple. She gave him money, but she also gave him affection. I looked at him and smiled gently. “If you’re so important to her, why settle for being her dirty little secret?” “You should convince her to divorce me and marry you instead.” Ryan’s expression darkened instantly. He glared at me, his voice shaking with anger. “You’re the one who’s useless here! You’re nothing but a kept man!” “You only got to her first. But now? You’re old, you’re ugly. What could you possibly offer her?” His coworker hurried over, pulling him away, clearly worried I’d be upset. But I wasn’t. I’d promised myself long ago that I wouldn’t get angry because of Claire. I wouldn’t feel sad because of her. And I definitely wouldn’t stoop to competing with her lovers. She wasn’t worth it. 3. Ryan was pulled back by a coworker, but he lost his balance, fell to the ground, and shattered the teacup in his hand. Blood poured from the deep cut on his palm, pooling on the floor. Through the glass of the conference room, Claire saw what had happened. Under the watchful eyes of everyone, she threw down her papers, pushed the door open, and hurried over to Ryan. She grabbed his hand with visible distress, frowning as she examined his injury. Her voice was cold as she asked, “Who did this to him?” The coworker who had tried to help Ryan stepped back in fear, their face pale. I let out a dry laugh. “It was me. And honestly, he deserved it.” Ryan gritted his teeth and glared at me, then shouted, “Yeah, I deserved it! I fell for someone I shouldn’t have. I’m the one being called a kept man, a plaything.” “But Claire,” he said, looking into her eyes with a mix of defiance and passion, “as long as you love me, I’ll stay by your side forever. No one can take me away from you.” The words were absurd, but the way he said them—so firm, so sincere—made him seem almost brave. Claire couldn’t help but laugh. She reached out to ruffle his hair and said softly, “Don’t be mad. You’re going to make me worry.” She treated him differently. That much was obvious. I lowered my gaze, no longer interested in the scene. Instead, I calmly said to Claire, “For my birthday this year, I want $50,000.” It was funny, really. We were married, yet we didn’t even have each other’s phone numbers. The only time I reached out to her was when I needed money. Before we got married, we had an agreement: she wanted me, and I wanted her money. Claire had always hated how materialistic I was. But in the past, no matter how much I asked for, she would always give it to me without hesitation. This time, though, she looked at me with a cold smile and said slowly, “You can have the money.” “But, Isaac, first, lower your proud head and apologize to Ryan.” Claire was willing to pay $50,000 to buy back my dignity and give it to Ryan in the form of an apology. It was the first time she had used money to humiliate me for the sake of another man. I clenched my fists and forced a laugh, holding back the sudden wave of pain that surged through my body. I turned and walked away. I didn’t need the money anymore. For the first time, I was curious about Claire. If one day she found out that this money could have given me more time to live… if she knew how much I’d suffered before I died… What kind of expression would she have then? 4. I went home alone, curling up in bed in pain, drenched in a cold sweat. After taking a sleeping pill, I told myself, If I fall asleep, it won’t hurt anymore. Half-asleep, I dreamed of when I was twenty years old. Claire was dirt-poor back then, but she loved me deeply. That year, on my birthday, I walked past a café and saw a couple sitting by the window. The boy was holding a white cake—it looked delicate, delicious, and expensive. I still remember the snow falling heavily that day. I scooped up a mound of snow, turned to Claire, and grinned. “Claire, doesn’t this look like a cake?” She bit her lip, pulled me into her arms, and held me tight. She didn’t let me see the tears welling up in her eyes. Three days later, she showed up outside my dorm with a cake. When I saw the frostbite on her fingers, my eyes turned red with anger. Through gritted teeth, I told her, “Claire, your hands are meant for reading and writing, not for ruining just to make me happy.” I said I didn’t deserve such an expensive cake. She frowned and immediately shot back, “Isaac, you’re the best person in the world. You deserve all the good things it has to offer.” That day, I ate the entire cake through tears. I don’t even remember what it tasted like anymore. I just know that after that, I never had a cake that tasted better. I slept for a long time. Half-conscious, I heard my phone ringing. When I picked it up, Claire’s voice came through. “Isaac,” she said. I smiled faintly, my voice soft as I replied, “Claire, it’s snowing. I want cake.” Before she could respond, I turned over and fell back into a deep sleep. 5. I slept until the middle of the night when hunger woke me up. I went to the kitchen to find something to eat, only to realize Claire had come back. She had bought Ryan a big house. They lived there together. He cooked for her, made her laugh, and waited for her to come home. Claire seemed happy. She hadn’t been back here in a long time. She leaned lazily against the floor-to-ceiling window, her eyes fixed on me. I kept my head down and walked past her, only for her to grab my arm. Frowning, she asked softly, “Why have you lost so much weight?” Her tone was gentle, almost like she still cared about me. For a moment, I froze before yanking my arm away and snapping, “Claire, what’s wrong with you now?” She glanced at her empty hand, her face slowly turning cold. It wasn’t until I reached the dining table and saw a cake covered in candles that I realized the phone call hadn’t been a dream. I’d said I wanted cake, and Claire had bought one. What was this? A peace offering? But I was dying. I didn’t need a cake—or her—anymore. Grabbing the cake, I threw it straight into the trash. Claire frowned, then shoved me against the wall, her voice sharp. “Isaac, are you messing with me?” I smiled, unbothered. “Yeah, Claire, I’m messing with you. So what?” “I said I wanted cake, and you went and bought one. God, you’re just as pathetic as you used to be.” I twisted the knife deliberately, watching her expression grow colder by the second. Her face darkened completely as she grabbed my collar and dragged me into the bedroom. She shoved me down onto the bed, her movements rough and unrestrained. Claire was furious. Her lips crashed onto mine, hard enough to split the corner of my mouth. I shoved her off, my voice icy. “Don’t touch me, Claire. You disgust me.” But she lunged at me again, biting down on my neck. The sharp pain made me suck in a breath. Her voice was low and harsh against my ear. “Isaac, would it kill you to give in to me for once?” “Do you even know how long I’ve waited for you to come to me? How many years I’ve waited for you to just talk to me?” “Do you know how happy I was when you said you wanted cake?” “And then you turn around and treat me like a joke?” She pulled back, her eyes red and brimming with tears, staring at me as if waiting for an answer. My own eyes stung as I glared back at her. The room was dim and suffocating, and neither of us said a word. Claire leaned in closer, her lips just inches from mine when her phone suddenly rang. It was Ryan. She paused, then answered it. I could hear Ryan’s voice, tearful and trembling. “Claire, are you really leaving me for him? You love me. I know you do.” “I’m at a bar right now. I’ve had a lot to drink, and some woman started talking to me…” “I hate her. Please come get me. Take me home, Claire. Please.” Claire said nothing at first. She just stared at me, her lips curling into a cold, mocking smile. Then she spoke, her voice soft but commanding. “Isaac, beg me.” “Beg me to stay, and I won’t leave.” She must have forgotten. A long time ago, I’d already begged her. I’d swallowed my pride and asked, “Claire, can we just sit down and talk calmly?” “Can we stop fighting?” “Can’t we just… be happy together?” “Can you treat me better?” I remember how she had stared at me back then, her gaze cold as ice. And she’d smiled as she said, “Isaac, you don’t deserve it.” Those words had stayed with me ever since, lodged deep in my heart. And now, finally, I could say them back to her. Grabbing her collar, I looked her dead in the eye and said, slowly and deliberately, “Claire, you don’t deserve it.” She froze for a moment, then let out a bitter laugh. Raising the phone to her ear, she said to Ryan, “I’m coming to get you.” Without another glance at me, she stood up, slammed the door, and walked out. 6. The next day, photos of Claire fighting another woman over Ryan spread through our social circles like wildfire. It was the first time one of her affairs had turned into such a public spectacle. Reporters were waiting outside our house. As I walked out, they swarmed me, bombarding me with questions. Claire’s company had grown rapidly over the past few years, and she was a rising name in Westbridge. Not only was she wealthy, but she was also stunningly beautiful, frequently trending online. One young reporter asked, “Mr. Brooks, do you have any comments on what happened between Claire and Ryan?” I didn’t stop walking. Without looking back, I replied, “One’s a cheating wife, and the other’s the kind of man who knowingly gets involved with one. What do you want me to say?” The reporter followed me, persistent. “But I heard that when Claire was at her lowest, you dumped her for money. Then, when she became successful, you guilt-tripped her into marrying you. Now that she’s found true love with Ryan—who’s clearly a better match—you’re clinging to the title of her husband and calling him a homewrecker. Don’t you think you’re the real problem here?” I stopped, turned around, and gave him a cold smile. Grabbing the badge hanging around his neck, I read his name and flipped it over. On the back, there was a student ID from Hillside University. Calmly, I asked, “You’re Ryan’s friend, aren’t you?” “Everyone in these circles knows Claire did whatever it took to marry me. You think I wanted to marry her?” “Or are you here on his behalf, trying to sling mud at me so your buddy can successfully take my place?” The reporter’s face paled. He snatched his badge back and stammered, “I am Ryan’s friend, but I’m a journalist. Everything I say is fair and objective.” “If you really didn’t want to marry her,” he continued, regaining his composure, “then why haven’t you divorced her now that she’s fallen for someone else?” I smirked, about to respond, but then I felt a familiar warmth trickling from my nose. Blood. Someone sneered, “Mr. Brooks keeps saying he doesn’t care, that he was forced into this marriage, but look at him—so stressed out he’s giving himself nosebleeds.” I wiped the blood from my lips with my finger and said evenly, “I’m not stressed. I’m sick. Dying, actually. Nosebleeds are common these days.” The crowd fell silent. The mocking smiles disappeared. Only the young reporter kept talking. “Oh, come on. Quit the act. A nosebleed makes you a dying man now? You’re just trying to play the sympathy card.” “I can’t stand guys like you—always playing the victim, using every dirty trick in the book. You make us all look bad.” With that, he turned and walked away. Something about his retreating figure reminded me of Ryan. Both left the same sour taste in my mouth. 7. The video of me surrounded by reporters quickly made its way onto trending news. Claire responded publicly later that day, saying, “I will never divorce my husband. Please stop bothering him.” That same afternoon, Ryan’s journalist friend was fired. Online, though, the backlash against me only grew. “This guy is disgusting. If he didn’t want to marry her, why did he? No one held a gun to his head.” “And he claims to be her ‘first love’? Please. He’s just a gold digger.” “Claire defends him so much—I’m jealous.” “He dumped her for money back then, and now he’s sticking around for the same reason. All this talk about not wanting the marriage is just him playing the victim.” “Yeah, he’s trying to act noble while still reaping all the benefits. Hypocrite.” Amid the hate, one comment stood out: “Why don’t you all shut your mouths? If you don’t know the truth, stop talking.” People immediately swarmed that account, demanding to know the “truth.” The truth was as cliché as it gets. That year, my mom was diagnosed with a terminal illness. The doctors said it was genetic. Not only was I doomed to eventually face the same fate, but if I ever had kids, they were likely to inherit it, too. The day my mom fell ill, she bled so much from her nose that the floor was covered in red. She lost so much blood that she slipped into a coma for three days. When she woke up, the first thing she said was, “Isaac, you need to break up with Claire.” I stared at her, dumbfounded, and whispered, “Mom, she won’t care about that.” I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince her or myself. My mom gently held my hand, nodded, and said, “I know. She’s a good girl.” She paused, then smiled faintly. “You two have been together since high school. Every morning, she’d wait for you at the corner with her bike. Did you think I didn’t notice?” “I remember once, she bought you a sandwich for breakfast. It cost all her bucks.” “You were so clueless and greedy. She lied and said she’d already eaten. And you believed her, happily devouring the sandwich while she went hungry.” “She didn’t have much back then. Her parents were divorced, and she was practically an orphan. That twelve bucks might’ve been her entire day’s budget, and she didn’t even hesitate to spend it on you.” “I thought to myself, my son is lucky to have found someone so good.” “She’s smart, kind, and wonderful in every way.” “But because she’s so good, I can’t let her waste her life on you.” That same year, Claire’s grandmother fell ill and was hospitalized. They were incredibly close—her grandmother had raised her. Claire was already overwhelmed trying to pay for the medical bills. My mom said women’s hearts are fragile. If Claire lost her grandmother and me, it would destroy her. I clenched my fists, and after a long silence, I whispered, “Mom… I can’t let her go.” Those words broke me. Tears poured down my face. I can’t let her go. 7. Even ten years later, thinking about it still makes my chest ache. I bought my mom’s favorite persimmons and planned to visit her grave one last time. I was dying. I needed to tell her that I wouldn’t be coming back anymore. Before heading to the cemetery, I decided to stop by Claire’s office to retrieve something. When my mom was alive, she adored Claire. That was back when she was still healthy, and Claire and I were deeply in love. One year, my mom visited a temple and brought back two porcelain dolls for good luck. Inside the boy doll, she tucked my birthdate. Inside the girl doll, she tucked Claire’s. They were supposed to protect us—keep us healthy and ensure that we’d always stay together. My mom asked me to give Claire her doll. But Claire didn’t want the one meant for her. She insisted on taking mine instead. She said the boy doll reminded her of me—awkward and a little goofy, but endearing. She said looking at it felt like looking at me. She liked seeing me. To this day, that doll had sat on Claire’s desk at work. I was worried that after I died, Claire would toss it in the trash like it was nothing. It was something my mom had given me. I needed to take it back and leave it at her grave, so it could stay with her. When I arrived at Claire’s office, she was watching the video of me from that morning—the one where I was bleeding from my nose, casually mentioning that I was dying. When she noticed me, she set her phone aside without saying a word. I glanced at her desk and saw that the spot where the doll used to sit was empty. Frowning, I asked, “Where’s my doll?”

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My brother is a psychopath. He’s bipolar, and when he tried to stop me from marrying my fiancé, he broke his own leg. Later, I was murdered—betrayed by my fiancé and my best friend, who had plotted together to kill me. On the day of my funeral, while I lay six feet under, they celebrated, laughing and planning how to spend my inheritance. My brother, with his broken leg and all, chased them across the globe like a man possessed. Covered in blood, he dragged their severed heads back to my grave. He cradled my corpse, his fingers brushing my hair, and whispered softly: “Don’t worry, kiddo. Your big brother’s always here.” Now I’ve been given a second chance. When my fiancé wrapped his arms around me and asked me to drug my brother’s water, I shoved that disgusting man away. “What’s wrong with my brother?” “He’s just a little too good at loving me.” “Lila, all you have to do is pour this into your brother’s drink.” “He’d never suspect anything from you.” “This stuff could knock out an elephant. Once he’s out cold, I’ll take you away tonight. Sound good?” His fingers lightly pinched my wrist as he spoke, but my mind wasn’t on him at all. My gaze wandered past him to the shadows beneath the swaying branches of the hawthorn tree outside. There stood my brother. Dressed in a white button-down shirt, a chef’s knife hanging loosely in one hand, he stood at the door, his expression dark and unreadable. His eyes locked onto the two of us.

When I fully realized I had been reborn, I was already being dragged back into the house by my brother. In his left hand, he still held the knife. His right hand fumbled by the doorframe for something—probably rope. Not finding any, he yanked off his own tie and used it to bind my wrists. “You’re not seeing Josh again.” Josh. My fiancé. The man who had just asked me to drug my brother. I stayed quiet, watching as my brother meticulously tied the knot. He even padded the tie with a bit of cloth so it wouldn’t chafe. “Liam,” I called softly, grabbing at his fingers. He froze for a moment. In my past life, I couldn’t even stand to touch him. My gesture now threw him off for a second or two. Then his hand pressed over my mouth. “Shut up.” “If you so much as beg for that bastard, I’ll kill him myself.” In my previous life, this was how the rift between us began. I was blindly in love with Josh, never realizing that he and my best friend were working together to kill me for my money. I thought he was my soulmate. I clung to him desperately, even as my brother tried to warn me that Josh wasn’t who I thought he was. But I didn’t listen. Blinded by anger, I lashed out at Liam, yelling things I can never take back. “You’re a freak, Liam! You’re trying to control me like I’m some kind of prisoner!” “Do you know why everyone in the neighborhood avoids you? It’s because you’re a monster!” “I hate you! I hate that you’re my brother! Why couldn’t I have been born into another family?!” I’ll never forget the look in his eyes that day. He stood there, pale and hollow, his sharp features carrying the kind of beauty that felt fragile, like glass about to shatter. He didn’t yell back. He didn’t argue. He simply tied me up, turned, and said in the calmest voice: “Dinner’s fish head soup with tofu.” …My favorite dish.

When I snapped out of my memories, I realized I was already tied to a chair. My brother was in the kitchen, cooking dinner. Yes, my brother is a mentally unstable control freak. But what did he ever do wrong? He simply didn’t know how to love me properly. I zoned out again, only to notice my brother standing in front of me, staring down at me. “What’s wrong, Liam?” I looked up at him with a smile. His voice came out low and hoarse, tinged with hesitation. “Why aren’t you fighting me?” His voice hadn’t always been this rough. It had become like this after years of yelling at construction sites and odd jobs to make ends meet—all for me. “You don’t have to tie me up, Liam,” I said gently. “I’m not going to run anymore.” I’ll stay by your side. I’ll help you heal. But he just stared at me coldly. “Can’t fight you into submission, so now you’re trying to sweet-talk me?” He didn’t believe me. He still thought I’d run. Turning sharply, he walked away without a second glance. I cleared my throat, letting my voice soften just enough to tug at his heartstrings. “Liam… it hurts.” Three seconds. That’s all it took. He was back in front of me, frantically kneeling down as if I’d lost a limb. “Where does it hurt? Do we need to go to the hospital? I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He reached out, but then hesitated, his hand trembling in midair. I’d yelled at him before, screamed at him to never touch me. Guilt flickered in his eyes. I reached out, letting my fingers run through his soft black hair. His entire body froze like a statue, his expression one of pure disbelief—like he couldn’t process what had just happened. Leaning down, I traced the corner of his eye with my finger. “Liam, this time…” “Let me protect you.”

I meant it. This time, Josh and that so-called “best friend” of mine, those two despicable people, wouldn’t get away with anything. They had no right to stain my brother’s hands with their filth. “Lila, didn’t I tell you to drug your brother yesterday?” Standing next to the convenience store, Josh shoved his hands into his pockets, his brows furrowed in frustration. In my previous life, I’d been so obsessed with him it was like I’d been cursed. He treated me like a puppet, always bossing me around because he knew I’d do whatever he asked. “If you don’t knock him out tonight, don’t expect me to help you run away.” In my past life, I’d listened to him. I’d slipped the drug into my brother’s drink. But for some reason, Liam had woken up halfway through. He’d fought through the haze, stumbling after me despite barely being able to stand. I could still remember the sound of his body tumbling down the stairs, the sickening crack of his leg breaking. His eyes had been so red that day, as if they were bleeding. Even lying on the ground, he’d reached out for me, still trying to stop me from leaving. “Don’t go! Come back! They’re bad people!” His voice, already ruined, had been raw and broken as he begged me: “Trust me. Your brother will never lie to you.” “Not even if it kills me.” But back then, I’d thought he was just a lunatic trying to trap me in his twisted little world. Josh probably thought his threat would send me into a panic. But I didn’t even blink. Instead, I glanced at him with calm indifference and asked, “This drug… it won’t kill him, right?” Before Josh could answer, my “best friend” Danielle conveniently appeared, sauntering over with a popsicle in hand. “Oh, Lila, don’t overthink it. Just use enough to knock him out. That’s all.” She smiled sweetly, but her words dripped with venom. “Besides, your brother’s a total scumbag. He deserves it.” A scumbag? A “scumbag” who, in my last life, hunted you two down across continents to avenge me? A “scumbag” who dragged his broken body to make sure justice was served for the sister who never even trusted him? You think I don’t know my own brother? I looked up at them, my heart burning with hatred so deep I could barely contain it. I wanted nothing more than to tear them apart right there and then. But not yet. I glanced down at the bag of powder in my hand, my mind already working out a plan. Patience, I told myself. Not yet.

“You went to see Josh again, didn’t you?” The moment I walked through the door, I was pulled into his arms. His sharp nose brushed against my neck as he inhaled, his breath light and shallow. My brother always smelled faintly of hawthorn flowers, a scent that clung to him like it was a part of his soul. Under the dim light of the lamp, Liam’s face looked almost ghostly pale. His features were striking, carved out like ink spilled on white paper—beautiful, but fragile, as if the slightest touch might shatter him. “I wasn’t—” I started. “Shut up.” He cut me off roughly, his knuckles brushing against my shoulder blade. The unfamiliar sensation sent a shiver down my spine. But this time, I didn’t pull away. It suddenly struck me that Liam was like a stray dog, desperate and cautious, making sure the broken little doll he’d picked up still belonged to him. I smiled faintly, reaching up to brush the messy strands of hair falling into his face. And then I froze. He was burning up. “Liam, you’re running a fever,” I said, my voice trembling as I steadied him. He looked worse than usual, his face drained of color, his body clearly struggling. Yet he still stood there stubbornly, his eyes fixed on me. “You promised you’d be back by six,” he rasped, his voice cold and hoarse. “I had to wait for you.” … The clock was already nearing nine. It hit me like a punch to the gut: I’d completely forgotten the time because I was so caught up in my own mess. Even with his fever, even knowing I’d forgotten, Liam had waited for me. He always waited for me. He collapsed onto the couch, his exhaustion finally catching up to him. His eyes widened slightly when he saw me heading to the kitchen. Because for the first time in my life, I was making him dinner.

I’ve always been good at cooking. In my past life, I’d bent over backward trying to impress Josh, making him elaborate lunches and dinners to win his approval. But for Liam? I’d never bothered. If anything, I’d sneer at him, mock him for how little he had. It wasn’t until much later that I learned he’d kept the half-eaten sandwiches I threw away, holding onto them like treasures. The shrimp and scallop porridge simmered perfectly on the stove. When it was ready, I blew on a spoonful to cool it down and held it up to his lips. Liam stared at me, suspicion flickering in his eyes, as if I’d laced the food with poison. “Are you going to eat or not?” I asked calmly. Reluctantly, he bit down on the spoon, his gaze dropping, strangely obedient. It was hard to believe that these were the same arms that, in another life, had severed the heads of Josh and Danielle in a fit of vengeance. “Liam,” I said softly as he ate, “have you ever thought about our future?” He paused, watching me carefully. “I’m about to graduate,” I continued. “Your job’s unstable. Why don’t we sell the house and move to the coast? “I want to open a flower shop.” In my past life, I’d never included Liam in my plans. If anything, I’d told him to get lost. But he was the one who raised me. The one who sacrificed everything for me. “Don’t you like flowers, Liam?” I asked, leaning closer. “You always smell like hawthorn…” Before I could finish, his hand darted out, gripping my chin firmly. His calloused fingers brushed against my lips, rough but deliberate. The way he looked at me made my breath hitch. His eyes were raw, burning with a possessiveness he didn’t bother to hide. “What are you trying to say?” “Coast, flowers… Are you planning a getaway?” His voice was low, almost a whisper. “Don’t lie to me, Lila. Please.” The way he said my name, like it was something sacred, made my chest ache. “You know as well as I do,” he continued, his voice trembling, “that the first thing you’d do in a new place… is leave me behind.” … He wasn’t wrong. In my past life, that’s exactly what I would have done. Liam was like a wounded animal, scarred from years of betrayal. No matter what I said now, he’d see it as another trap, another way to hurt him. We stared at each other in the quiet room, the tension thick and suffocating. “Prove it,” he said finally, his voice steady but his eyes pleading. “Prove what?” I whispered. The lights flickered once, twice, and then went out, plunging the room into darkness. And in the darkness, Liam showed me exactly how he wanted me to prove it. I collided with his chest, his hands catching me by the waist. He was burning. His fevered body radiated heat as he let out a low, guttural sound. Before I could react, his fingers tilted my chin up, and his lips crashed against mine. His mouth was scorching, his fingers trailing down the back of my neck, leaving fire in their wake. I felt like I was melting, my senses overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch. He wasn’t just kissing me; he was claiming me, tearing down every wall I’d ever built between us. And then, in the middle of it all, I found myself gripping his shirt, kissing him back. Liam froze, his breath faltering before he pressed his forehead against mine, his voice breaking in the silence. “Just like this,” he whispered. “Don’t leave me, Lila.”

I finished washing the last of the dishes in the kitchen. Liam was in the living room, but I couldn’t bring myself to face him. I was stalling. After all, we’d just done something I never thought I’d do—not in this lifetime or the last. I’d always known Liam’s feelings for me weren’t purely familial. We weren’t related by blood, but the way he looked at me… it was like he’d been holding himself back for years. He wanted me, but he’d never dared to act on it. How do you face someone after that? Even after living two lives, I didn’t have the answer. But as I stood there thinking, Liam walked in like nothing had happened. “Thirsty?” Before I could respond, he cornered me at the sink, holding a steaming mug of milk. He pressed it to my lips. I had a habit of drinking milk before bed, but it was obvious this cup had already been his—the faint imprint of his lips lingered on the edge. I took a sip, my lips brushing the same spot his had. “Good girl.” He ruffled my hair like I was a child. “Liam,” I called softly. He raised an eyebrow. “You need to work on your kissing skills,” I teased. “What?” His laugh was low and disbelieving. “I said—” Before I could finish, he bent down and kissed the corner of my mouth, quick and unexpected. “…!” I grabbed his tie, pulling him closer. “Liam, now do you believe me?” I asked, my voice steady. “I’m not running anymore. I’ve given myself to you completely—” But he didn’t say anything. He just stared at me, his expression unreadable. “I’ve opened myself up to you—” Suddenly, my head started to spin. The room swayed, and I blinked up at him, confused. No… The milk. Liam cupped my face, his calloused thumb brushing over my eyelid. I couldn’t move. My limbs felt heavy, and my thoughts grew hazy. His voice sounded distant, like it was coming from the other end of a tunnel. “You did well this time, Lila.” “But you shouldn’t have left the drug so close to the top of your bag.” “It fell out earlier.” “You almost managed to kill your brother.” … No. He misunderstood. The drug wasn’t meant for him. I’d kept it to have it tested, to gather evidence against Josh and Danielle. But Liam thought I’d planned to use it on him. He thought everything I’d done tonight had been some grand performance to lull him into a false sense of security. I tried to speak, to explain, but my body wouldn’t obey me. My eyelids grew heavier and heavier, until I couldn’t keep them open anymore. The last thing I heard was Liam’s voice, quiet and bitter. “You hate your brother that much?” “Lie to me once, lie to me twice… when does it end, Lila?”

When I woke up, my head was pounding. I couldn’t move. Something was tight around my neck and wrists, pinning me in place. Liam had tied me up. “Liam…” My voice was hoarse as I looked at him in exasperation. “You have to let me explain.” … He stood over me, his expression cold and detached. Liam was tall and wiry, his frame almost fragile, like glass that could shatter at any moment. But his strength was undeniable—whether it was in my last life when he dealt with Josh and Danielle, or now, as he handled his “disobedient” sister. His pale fingers brushed against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “Liam,” I said again, more firmly this time. “Shut up.” The command was sharp, his voice rough and frayed. He leaned down, capturing my lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. His lashes brushed against my cheek, tickling me, but I couldn’t move. Even the softest of his touches felt overwhelming. I wanted to resist—I had to resist—but the moment I tasted him, I couldn’t help but respond. He consumed me completely, his scent, his warmth, his presence crowding every sense I had. But as his lips moved down to my jaw, trailing fire along my skin, the last shreds of my rationality snapped me back to reality. I wasn’t here to let Liam practice his kissing skills. “Liam—” I coughed, breaking the moment. He released me reluctantly, irritation flickering across his face as he rubbed my back. “You choked?” he asked, his voice still laced with anger. “Who’s the one who needs more practice?” His words were accusatory, but I could hear the hurt buried underneath. “I’m not lying to you, Liam,” I said firmly, meeting his gaze. “The drug was from Josh. He wanted me to use it on you.” “I kept it because I wanted to have it tested—to prove what they’ve been doing. That’s all.” “It’s you who doesn’t trust me.” Liam’s eyes narrowed as I spoke, but his expression didn’t soften. Instead, he leaned down, his lips brushing against mine again. I knew then that no matter what I said, my explanations would fall on deaf ears. He didn’t believe me. Frustrated, I pushed him away. He stepped back slightly, one eyebrow raised, a small smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “Oh, so the drug was for testing?” “Not to poison your poor brother?” He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent a chill down my spine. “Lila, are you going to tell me next that everything you’ve done… was for me?” His voice cracked slightly, the vulnerability in his words almost hidden under his cutting tone. “Do you even love me, Lila? Even a little?” I opened my mouth to answer, but the words caught in my throat. How could I explain? In my last life, I’d done everything possible to hurt him. I’d spiked his food with sleeping pills, planted stolen goods on him to get him arrested, and ruined his reputation with our neighbors—all so I could escape him. Half of the awful things people said about Liam were my fault. So how could I convince him to believe me now? For now, I’d have to take a different approach. With a sudden burst of energy, I sat up, grabbed his face, and kissed him. His lips were warm, softer than I’d expected. He froze, his eyes widening slightly, like he couldn’t believe what had just happened. I pulled back, watching as his expression shifted, his eyes filling with something raw and wild. And then he snapped. I didn’t even have time to react before he pushed me back onto the bed, his hand cradling the back of my head to cushion the impact. The mattress dipped under our combined weight as he leaned over me, his fingers lacing through mine as he kissed me again, harder this time. His lips moved to my neck, his voice low and ragged against my skin. “You’re going to be the death of me, Lila.” … In my past life, I owed Liam everything. In this life, I don’t know if I can fix him. But I can promise to stay by his side, even if it means we destroy each other in the end.

iam’s cooking was amazing. It would’ve been even better if my hands weren’t tied and he wasn’t feeding me one spoonful at a time. “Liam…” I dragged out his name, trying to sound sweet. The silver spoon paused just before my lips. “Lila.” His tone was calm, indifferent even. “The last time you acted like this, you almost got me arrested.” He was just stating a fact, but under the table, my leg brushed against his. He froze for a moment. A faint blush crept onto his pale face, making him look almost innocent. If I hadn’t been pinned to the bed just hours earlier, feeling him devour me like a starving wolf, I might’ve believed it. “Liam, do you believe in fate?” He didn’t answer, so I continued. “I had a dream last night. A dream about the future.” “In the dream, I married Josh. You broke your leg trying to stop me. Later, Josh and Danielle conspired to kill me.” “You dragged that broken leg of yours halfway across the world, hunting them down to avenge me.” I stared into his eyes, making sure every word sounded as sincere as possible. “So now, I really, really hate Josh.” I poured my heart into those words, but Liam’s expression didn’t change. His beautiful eyes were as cold and reflective as a frozen lake. “Oh, really?” he said finally, leaning in close. His breath skimmed over my neck, sending goosebumps down my spine. “Funny. I had a dream too.” “In mine, my little sister was so desperate to escape me that she made up a beautiful lie.” “She tricked me into believing her, made me think I finally had her… and then she left me behind.” … For a second, I wondered if Liam had been reborn too. Because in my last life, that was exactly what had happened. The night I drugged him, I’d held his face in my hands, promising I’d never leave him. I could still remember the way his eyes had turned red, how he’d clung to my wrist like it was the only thing keeping him alive. “Lila, you won’t leave me, right? You’ll stay, right?” he’d asked, his voice trembling. And then I’d put him to sleep and left him behind. … If that’s what he dreamed, then maybe it wasn’t so strange that he wanted to keep me tied up. I chuckled lightly, and Liam frowned at me. “Forget it, Liam,” I said, my voice soft. “No matter what you do to me, I’ll accept it.”

I swear, this was the last time I’d ever lie to Liam. I turned the shower to the coldest setting and let the icy water wash over me. While drying my hair, I blasted it with cold air, making sure the chill seeped straight into my bones. My health had never been great, so it didn’t take much for me to catch a cold. As soon as I felt the cold settle into my sinuses, I sniffled, knowing I was on the verge of a fever. When I walked out of the bathroom, towel in hand, Liam was sitting on the couch. His dark eyes locked onto me with a piercing intensity. I stumbled toward him, letting out a dramatic “oh no” as I collapsed into his lap. Even though it was sudden, Liam’s arms instinctively came up to catch me. For a moment, I felt like one of those seductive fox spirits from old folklore, luring a scholar into my trap. But Liam’s gaze was steady and unwavering, cold enough to make me shiver. “Go to bed,” he said flatly. “…” I squeezed his thigh, testing his patience. His hand shot out to grab mine, holding it in place. I tilted my head, watching the way his throat moved as he swallowed. “Why are you ignoring me?” “Don’t move,” he warned. His voice was calm, but there was a flicker of something dangerous beneath it. “Go to sleep.” This time, his tone carried a sharper edge, a clear warning. “Liam, I’m so good to you. Don’t you like it?” I whispered, shifting slightly on his lap and brushing my fingers against his throat. His pupils dilated, and a low grunt escaped his lips. He was still holding back. My brother, always holding back. “Fine,” I said, feigning disappointment. “Next time, I won’t be so nice to you.” “After all, Liam, you’re the one who keeps pushing me away.” Before I could finish my sentence, his hand gripped the back of my neck, pulling me forward. His lips crashed into mine, cutting off whatever words I was about to say. Sometimes, I really did feel sorry for Liam. I was the one tied up, but he was the one who was truly trapped. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “Are you scared, Liam?” I murmured against his lips. He didn’t answer right away. When he finally did, his voice was hoarse. “Yes,” he admitted quietly. “You’re acting so strange, Lila. I’m terrified it’s all a trap.” “But you know what? Even if you dug a pit and stood in front of it, smiling as you told me to jump…” “I’d still jump.” It was the middle of the night, and I couldn’t sleep. My body felt like it was burning up. I got up and knocked on Liam’s door. “Liam… I think I have a fever,” I mumbled, my vision blurry as I looked up at him. For a moment, random thoughts filled my foggy mind—Liam really was handsome. If he’d gone to school like a normal person, I bet a lot of girls would’ve fallen for him. But unfortunately, Liam had given up everything for me. Without hesitation, he scooped me up in his arms. “We’re going to the hospital.” He didn’t even stop to think. His coat was already wrapped around me as he carried me out the door. He pressed his hand to my forehead, and I felt his fingers tremble. I must’ve been really hot. Liam always panicked because of me. He was so perfect in every way, but it seemed like God had given him a weakness—me. His entire life had been ruined because of me.

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In the middle of the night, my girlfriend sent me a chilling message: “I just looked out the peephole, and there’s a maniac with a knife in the hallway! He’s going crazy and killing people! He noticed me! He’s trying to get in!” I panicked and immediately texted her back: “No matter what, don’t open the door. I’m coming over right now.” I rushed to get back to her place as quickly as I could. But as I was on my way, she sent me three more messages: “Wait, are you actually coming? I was just kidding! You didn’t take it seriously, did you? Haha.” “There’s no killer, I was just messing with you.” “Go back home!” For a moment, I felt my heart drop. By then, I was already in a cab, my nerves on edge. I saw her messages and texted back, trying to calm myself down: “You almost gave me a heart attack! You should’ve told me right away that you were joking.” Her response was casual, almost dismissive: “How was I supposed to know you’d actually come over? I was just playing around. What’s the big deal? You’re not mad, are you? Haha.” I sighed. “No, it’s fine. I’m just glad you’re okay. But seriously, don’t joke about stuff like this again—it’s scary, especially at night.” She replied: “Okay, I won’t. Haha.” Even though she said it was fine, I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. Just to be sure, I decided to video call her. To my surprise, the call only rang once before she declined it. I texted her immediately: “Why didn’t you answer?” Her reply came quickly: “I’m going to bed—I’m so tired. Haha.” I stared at the screen, unsettled. That “haha” felt off. “What are you laughing about?” I asked. She replied: “Nothing, I’m just in a good mood tonight.” That’s when I started to feel like something was seriously wrong. Normally, my girlfriend was pretty serious—she wasn’t the type to use “haha” or act playful in her texts. A terrifying thought crossed my mind: What if someone else was using her phone? The moment that thought hit me, a chill ran down my spine. I immediately tried calling her again—this time, she didn’t decline the video call, but it rang for a long time without anyone picking up. I switched to a regular phone call. To my surprise, she answered. Her voice sounded tired. “What do you want? I told you, I’m going to bed. I’m exhausted.” I pressed her: “Why didn’t you pick up the video call?” She repeated, almost mechanically: “I’m going to bed. I’m so tired.” Before I could say anything else, she hung up. The cab driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “Hey man, are you okay? You don’t look so good.” I caught my reflection in the mirror—my face was pale, my hands trembling. The sense of dread was overwhelming. I told the driver, “Please, drive faster. I think my girlfriend’s in trouble.” Sensing my urgency, the driver didn’t hesitate. He stepped on the gas and sped toward her apartment. As we drove, I sent her another text: “Say something—anything.” This time, she sent back a voice message. Her voice was flat, almost robotic: “Say what? I told you, I’m going to bed. I’m so tired.” 2 Hearing her voice, I let out a long breath of relief. “Didn’t you say there was a guy with a knife outside your door? You even said he was killing people! You scared the hell out of me.” She texted back: “I told you, it was just a prank. Relax, I was just messing with you.” “That’s really not funny,” I replied, still uneasy. She didn’t respond again. The more I thought about it, the stranger it seemed. Sure, she’d answered my call earlier, but what if she’d been forced to? What if there really was a knife-wielding maniac, and he had gotten inside? What if he was threatening her, making her pretend everything was fine? Maybe when I called, he had the knife to her throat, and she had no choice but to act normal. As I spiraled, she sent another message: “I’m going to bed. I’m so tired. Just go home.” I started typing a response, but before I could hit send, another message popped up: “Haha.” That “haha” again. Those two letters were driving me insane. Before I left for her place, I had already called the police. Now, I was even more convinced something was wrong, so I called them again. The dispatcher assured me that officers were already en route and would arrive at her apartment complex in about 25 minutes. I asked the driver how long it would take us to get there. He sighed and pointed ahead. “There’s been an accident on the overpass. It’s going to take a while.” My anxiety spiked as I stared out the window at the sea of red brake lights. I tried calling her again, but this time, I sent a video call. It rang for what felt like forever before she declined it again. I texted her: “Let me see you. I’m at your building. If you don’t pick up, I’m coming upstairs.” She started typing immediately, but no new messages came through. At this point, I was barely holding it together. The driver glanced at me. “Look, man, there’s nothing we can do. Even if you got out now, you’d be stuck on this overpass for an hour.” I looked ahead. The overpass was jammed with cars, all crawling forward at a snail’s pace because of the accident. The driver inched forward, but it was agonizingly slow. Finally, a new message came through: “You actually came here?” “Yes, I’m downstairs. I’m coming up!” I replied. Her response came quickly: “Don’t. I have company.” “Who?” “A coworker. You don’t know her. She’s another girl. It’s just… not convenient right now.” I insisted: “Then turn on your camera.” She replied: “We’re all in bed already.” I didn’t dare tell her I had called the police. If someone really had her at knifepoint, I didn’t want to provoke them into doing something reckless. But then, she sent another text: “Did you call the cops?” I froze. She continued: “The building manager just called me. Apparently, the police received a report about a knife-wielding murderer in the hallway outside my apartment. They asked the building manager to confirm it. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was? I had to explain everything to the manager.” “The building manager and security already came to my door. They scolded me for causing trouble. I told you—it was a joke! Why did you take it so seriously?” “Just call the police back and cancel it. You know filing a false report can get you arrested, right?” Her messages kept coming, urging me to cancel the report. The more she texted, the more uneasy I felt. Something still didn’t sit right. She sent another message: “You’re being ridiculous. It’s the middle of the night, and you’re freaking out over some imaginary killer. What’s wrong with you? This is a civilized country. You don’t actually believe there’s a murderer with a knife roaming the halls, do you? It’s absurd!” Just as I was reading her latest message, my phone buzzed with an incoming video call—from her. Oddly enough, instead of calming me, the call made me even more nervous. The driver glanced back at me. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” I took a deep breath and hesitated before answering. What if the person on the other end of the call wasn’t her? What if it was the killer, calling me as some sick joke? What if, the moment I answered, I’d be staring at her lifeless, bloodied body? My hands shook as I accepted the call. The video connection lagged for a few seconds because of the bad signal on the overpass. When it finally connected, the room on the other end was dimly lit, with only a bedside lamp casting a faint glow. Her voice came through first: “I told you, I’m tired.” But the camera wasn’t on her—it was pointed at the ceiling. “Let me see you,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. There was a pause. For a moment, I was convinced it wasn’t her on the other end—that the killer had her phone. But then she adjusted the camera, and her face came into view. She was wearing a sheet mask, looking annoyed. “I’m going to bed. I’m exhausted.” She tilted the camera slightly, and I saw another woman in the background, sitting at a vanity in light blue pajamas. “See? My coworker’s here. That’s why I didn’t want you coming up,” she said, sounding exasperated. I sat there, stunned. So there really wasn’t a killer? It had all been a stupid prank? And she hadn’t wanted me to come up because her coworker was staying over? Before I could say anything, she ended the call and sent me a follow-up text: “Happy now?” She attached a photo of her living room. In the picture, the building manager—wearing a baseball cap and holding a clipboard—stood by the door, probably confirming the police report. It seemed like everything was fine. But for some reason, I still couldn’t shake the unease in my chest. 3The driver hesitated before asking cautiously, “Was that your girlfriend on the call? She looked fine. Seems like she was just joking around. Do we still need to go? The traffic’s awful up ahead.” I hesitated. Should I call off the police? Should I just head home? Meanwhile, my girlfriend sent another message: “Cancel the police already! The building manager called me again to confirm the report. This is getting so annoying!” I replied firmly: “I’m almost there, and the police should be there soon too. This could be serious, so I’ll just explain everything to the officers in person.” She didn’t respond immediately. After about half a minute, though, she sent another message: “Don’t you dare come over!” I froze. Just then, my phone vibrated again. It was a message from her younger sister, Jackie: “Hey, are you there yet?” I was taken aback. “Wait, you’re there too?” Jackie replied, sounding anxious: “You’re not there yet? My sister texted me saying there’s a guy with a knife outside her door, so I rushed over!” I froze, confused. “She told you that too?” Jackie pressed on: “Why aren’t you there already? You were closer than me! Don’t tell me you didn’t come.” I quickly explained: “I’m stuck in traffic on the overpass!” Jackie’s reply came fast: “Hurry up! Something’s seriously wrong with her!” “She told me it was just a joke,” I replied, my hands starting to tremble. “She said not to come over, that she had company, and even FaceTimed me to prove it.” Jackie’s response was sharp: “She said the same thing to me. Told me the guy with the knife wasn’t real, that it was all a joke, and to stay home.” “And?” “Then she told me not to call the police.” I was stunned. “She told you that too?” “Yeah,” Jackie replied. “She’s in trouble. I’m sure of it.” “How can you be so sure?” I asked, my pulse racing. Jackie responded with urgency: “Because we have a code phrase. If she’s ever in danger, she’ll send me this phrase.” “What phrase?” Jackie’s next message sent chills down my spine: “I’m going to sleep. I’m so tired.” My heart stopped. I scrolled back through our messages, my hands shaking. “What do you want? I’m going to sleep. I’m so tired.” “Say something. I’m going to sleep. I’m so tired.” “I’m going to sleep. I’m so tired. Just go home.” I felt a cold sweat break out across my body. She had been begging for help the whole time. Jackie sent another message, sharing her conversation with my girlfriend: Jackie: Is the guy with the knife still outside? Girlfriend: No, I’m going to sleep. I’m so tired. Jackie: I’m on my way over. Girlfriend: Don’t come. I’m going to sleep. I’m so tired. Jackie: Okay, I’ll go back home then. Girlfriend: Yeah, I’m going to sleep. I’m so tired. Jackie texted again: “I’m at the building now, but the front door is locked, and the call box is broken.” She sent a photo of the building’s front entrance. The door was locked tight, and the call box looked like someone had smashed it with a knife. I asked quickly: “You didn’t tell her you were coming, did you?” “No,” Jackie replied. “I’m sure she’s being threatened by that guy, so I didn’t say anything!” “Are you alone?” “Of course not! I brought my boyfriend, Nate. He went to find the building manager and security.” I told her: “Stay hidden somewhere safe. The police should be there soon. I’m still stuck in traffic, but don’t go upstairs alone! That guy could be wandering the halls, and if he sees you…” “I know! I’m waiting for Nate,” she replied. “Has he found anyone yet? If not, let me add him. Send me his contact info.” I had only met Nate twice before, and we didn’t have each other’s numbers. Jackie quickly sent me his profile. His avatar was a cartoon sheep. I sent him a friend request: “Hey, I’m Jackie’s brother-in-law. I’m on my way. Add me.” The request just sat there, unanswered. The driver let out a frustrated sigh as the car crawled forward. The overpass was still a sea of brake lights, and we were barely moving. I messaged Jackie: “Why isn’t Nate adding me?” She didn’t respond immediately. I thought about calling her but worried that a ringing phone might alert the guy with the knife if he was nearby. After a few agonizing minutes, Jackie finally texted back: “It’s bad. Nate just texted me—there’s no one in the property management office.” She sent a short video Nate had taken. The office, marked with a “Building Management” sign, was completely dark. The door was locked, and the lights were off. “What now?” Jackie asked, her panic clear in her typing. “The manager’s not there, and the security guards are nowhere to be found!” I replied: “Tell Nate to stop wandering around and add me already.” “I told him! He’s adding you now. Just wait a second,” Jackie said. I waited tensely, staring at my phone. A notification finally popped up—but it wasn’t Nate accepting my friend request. It was another message from Jackie. “Nate just messaged me. He says he found someone from property management.” 4 “Where did Nate find them?” I asked Jackie. She quickly responded: “He ran into them downstairs near the apartment complex. The property manager was doing rounds, and Nate happened to catch them. He explained everything, and they seemed shocked to hear about a killer in the building. They said it was the first time they’d ever encountered something like this. Nate wants me to meet him in the management office so we can go check on my sister together. The security guard is there too, so we should be fine. Don’t worry, I’ll text you if anything happens.” I panicked and quickly typed: “Wait! Don’t go yet!” While trying to stop her, I scrolled back through my previous messages. When my girlfriend had insisted I cancel the police report earlier, she had said the property manager had already come to her apartment to verify the situation. She’d even sent me a photo of the manager standing in her living room, taking notes with a clipboard. But this raised a critical question: If the property manager had already gone to her apartment to confirm the situation, why would they act surprised when Nate told them about a killer in the building? Shouldn’t they already know about it from my girlfriend? I explained my thoughts to Jackie: **”Listen to me carefully. It doesn’t matter if your sister is being threatened or not. If the property manager actually went to her place, there are only two possible outcomes: 1. She told them the truth—that there’s a blood-covered killer outside her door. 2. She lied because she was being coerced and said the killer was just a prank. Either way, the property manager would have known something was going on. So why would they act completely clueless when Nate told them about it? That’s the biggest red flag here!”** Jackie hesitated but eventually countered: “Maybe my sister was too scared to say anything! Maybe the killer was threatening her, so she couldn’t tell them the truth. That would explain why the property manager didn’t know.” I typed back urgently: “You’re missing the point! Even if she lied to them, the property manager would still know there was some story about a killer in the building. They wouldn’t act like it was the first time they’d heard about it!” As I was explaining this, I remembered something else my girlfriend had said: she claimed the police had contacted the property manager to verify the situation. To confirm, I called the police again. The dispatcher confirmed that they had called the property manager and informed them about the report. This meant one thing: the real property manager was already aware of the situation. The people Nate had met weren’t the property staff at all. My heart raced as I quickly sent Jackie another message: “Don’t go! Those aren’t the real property managers!” But Jackie didn’t reply. I couldn’t wait anymore. Ignoring the risk of my phone’s ringtone attracting attention, I called her directly. The line rang and rang, but no one answered. I tried again. And again. Each time, my calls went unanswered. Finally, as the car inched past the worst of the traffic, I sent her a flurry of messages: “Don’t go to the office!” “Those aren’t the real property managers!” “Please, just respond!” Just as I hit send, my phone buzzed with an incoming message. It was Jackie: “Sorry, I put my phone on silent because I was afraid a ringtone might make too much noise. That’s why I missed your calls. What’s going on?” I quickly typed: “Don’t go to the office! Hide somewhere safe. I’m almost there. Wait for me!” Her reply sent a chill down my spine: “It’s too late. I’m already at the office, but Nate’s not here. There’s no one here. Where are they?” I could feel her fear through the screen. Anyone in her situation—being lured into an empty office under false pretenses—would be terrified. Her messages kept coming, her panic growing: “Nate isn’t answering his phone. I can’t get in touch with him at all. The office is completely empty. What do I do? My sister just texted me asking if I’ve gone home yet. She says she’s coming to find me. How does she know I’m here? Should I reply? I’m hiding in the storage room behind the office. I told Nate to come find me, but he hasn’t responded. Is he okay?” I typed back quickly, my hands shaking: “No! Don’t tell him where you are! The fake property managers will know if you do! Get out of there, now!” But just as I sent the message, another one came in from her: “Nate’s here. He came to find me.” My heart sank. I replied immediately: “Don’t go out! That’s not Nate! It’s the killer! Hide somewhere else, now!” But there was no response. In the car, clutching my phone, I opened my girlfriend’s chat. The last message she’d sent still lingered on the screen: “Don’t you dare come over!” Then, my phone buzzed again. It wasn’t Jackie. It was a new message from my girlfriend: “What the hell are you doing? Are you crazy? Why would you get my sister and Nate involved in this?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “296154”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #励志Inspiring #魔幻Magic #浪漫Romance #重生Reborn #惊悚Thriller

I was handing out flyers when I spotted my girlfriend, Sophie, making out with the campus heartthrob, Henry, in a flashy sports car. Her clothes were disheveled, and the scene was anything but innocent. I knocked on the car window. Henry glanced at Sophie and asked, “Who’s that?” Sophie, lying in his arms, smirked and said, “Just some pathetic loser. If you want, I’ll break up with him right now.” She kissed him again, got out of the car without even sparing me a glance, and walked away. Henry licked his lips—where Sophie had just kissed him—and sneered at me. “Leave, dude. A beauty like her only belongs to guys who can handle her.” I stayed calm and asked, “I don’t care about the girlfriend. But tell me—why are you sitting in my car?” The smug look on his face vanished. He stared at me, confused. “What do you mean, your car?” I opened the glove compartment and pulled out the registration. “See this? My name’s on it. So, what are you doing in my car? You planning to steal it? Should I call the cops?” Henry’s face turned bright red. He scrambled out of the car and stammered, “Don’t call the police! My dad owns a repair shop. I saw this car parked at the shop and thought it looked cool, so I borrowed it for a drive. Please, don’t report me!” I raised my voice. “Borrowed? This is stealing! Since when does a repair shop let people take customers’ cars for joyrides?” Hanging his head, he muttered, “I’m sorry, man.” I sighed, trying to stay composed. “Let’s check the car for damage first.” He stayed silent while I inspected it. Sure enough, the hood had a noticeable dent. I glared at him. “What happened here?” He panicked and quickly blurted, “It wasn’t me! Your girlfriend sat on the hood to take selfies. She even posted them all over her social media—there’s your proof!” I pulled out my phone to check, but her posts were nowhere to be found. Henry handed me his phone. “She blocked you. Look at my feed.” Sure enough, there it was—photos of Sophie posing provocatively on the hood of my car, captioned with suggestive emojis. I smirked. “Well, these photos will make great evidence. You two better get ready for a court summons.” Henry’s face turned pale. “How much will this cost me?” I shrugged. “Probably around $15,000.” His jaw dropped. “But it was her who caused the damage! Why do I have to pay?” I rolled my eyes. “You don’t know how the law works, huh? You were both involved, so you’re both responsible. Looks like your dad’s repair shop won’t be making a profit this year.” The so-called campus heartthrob—a grown man—burst into tears. “That stupid girl! I told her this car had a carbon fiber hood! High-end cars like this need to warm up before you can sit on them. But no, she jumped on it right away to take her stupid selfies! My parents work so hard, and now I’m screwed because of her!” I climbed into my car and called an appraiser to assess the damage. I didn’t have the patience to keep listening to him cry. As I was about to roll up the window, he wailed, “Why are you the rich one? Sophie said you were just some poor loser handing out flyers for a living!” I glanced at him. “I wasn’t handing out flyers for someone else. Those businesses on Main Street? They’re mine. I was promoting my own stores.” He was speechless. I shut the window, cutting him off mid-sob. Right then, Sophie texted me: “So you saw everything. Let’s break up. Don’t blame me—it’s not my fault your parents couldn’t give you a better life. I’d rather cry in a Lamborghini than laugh on your bicycle!” I paused to think. Since I own both the Lamborghini and the bicycle, should she be crying or laughing? I decided to reply with: “See you in court.” But when I tried to send the message, I realized she had already blocked me. Seriously? She blocked me? The audacity! She owes me $10,000 for the repairs! Furious, I stormed into her dorm building. I didn’t care that it was the women’s dorm—I was getting my money. It was mid-morning, so most of the students were in class. The dorm was quiet as I made my way to her room. Just as I raised my hand to knock, I heard voices from inside. “Did you really do what I told you to?” a girl asked. Sophie replied, “Yeah. I told him I was on birth control.” The other girl sounded excited. “Good! I tracked your ovulation, so this is the perfect time. If you get pregnant, you’ll secure a future with him. Once you’re pregnant, he won’t have a choice—you’ll be in the family for good!” Sophie hesitated. “But what if he forces me to get an abortion?” The other girl scoffed. “Don’t worry. Once you’re pregnant, we’ll make sure he takes responsibility. You already dumped your boyfriend for him—he wouldn’t dare refuse!” I stood frozen outside the door, stunned. Sophie wasn’t just cheating. She was planning to trap Henry with a baby to marry into a wealthy family. Would she still feel so confident about her plan when she found out the car he drove was mine? I knocked on the door. When Sophie opened it and saw me, her face twisted in annoyance. “We already broke up. Why are you here? Listen, being poor is one thing, but being poor and shamelessly clingy is just disgusting.” She clearly thought I was here to beg for her back. Her two roommates—one of whom I recognized as her best friend, Jenna, who had been egging her on—stood behind her, glaring at me. Before I could respond, Jenna snapped, “Stop standing in the way of Sophie’s happiness. Let her live her best life!” I stared at them, dumbfounded. Since when was cheating in someone else’s car considered “pursuing happiness”? Back when Sophie and I first started dating, she always made snide comments. She’d say things like, “If a guy truly loves a girl, you can tell by how much he spends on her.” It didn’t help that her best friend Jenna constantly egged her on. Because of Jenna’s influence, I had spent a lot on Sophie—gifts, dinners, you name it. But today, I wasn’t here to win her back. I was here to take back what was mine. I said calmly, “Fine, we can break up. But that phone you’re using? I bought it. You should return it to me.” I didn’t mention the Lamborghini. Knowing Sophie, she’d find a way to cling to me if she knew the car was mine. For now, my priority was to get my things back. Sophie frowned, her tone icy. “Wow, you’re really that petty? Can’t you think about my feelings for once?” I stared at her, speechless. It wasn’t about being petty. She had betrayed me—why would I care about her feelings? Jenna, standing nearby, suddenly laughed and covered her mouth. “Sophie, don’t you see his game? He doesn’t really care about the phone. He’s just making up excuses so you’ll feel bad and stay with him.” Sophie smirked. “Oh, I get it now. You think I can’t break up because I won’t give you back the phone, right? Well, let me remind you—I’m with someone rich now. Giving back a phone is nothing to me!” She lifted her chin proudly. Jenna chimed in, “Girl, don’t let this loser intimidate you. I looked up the price of the campus heartthrob’s Lamborghini—it’s worth millions. Buying you a new phone would be pocket change for him!” Sophie chuckled. “Fine, I’ll give you your phone back. But let me make one last call. I’ll show you why I’m leaving you—for someone way out of your league.” I figured she was talking about Henry. Funny—when I dropped my car off at his dad’s repair shop, his dad had complained about struggling to afford rent. Sophie dialed his number, and Jenna urged her, “Put it on speaker! Let him hear the difference between a real man and a broke one.” Sophie nodded, clearly eager to show off. She turned on the speakerphone. The moment the call connected, Sophie’s voice turned soft and sweet. “Babe, my ex is here trying to make me give back the phone he bought me. Without it, how will I contact you?” But instead of sympathy, Henry’s voice roared through the speaker: “You crazy b**! Don’t you dare call me again! If I ever see you, I’ll beat the crap out of you!”** The line went dead. Sophie and Jenna were stunned. For a moment, no one spoke. Jenna was the first to recover. Furious, she grabbed a book from her bed and hurled it at me. “This is your fault! You must’ve said something about her behind her back!” Sophie’s face turned red with anger. “Yeah! He wasn’t like this before. You must’ve trashed me to him! You’re disgusting!” I sighed, exasperated. “I didn’t say a word about you. Just give me my stuff back.” Sophie shouted, “If you didn’t badmouth me, why would he treat me like this?” I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t rocket science. Sophie’s photos of her posing provocatively on the hood of my car had caused thousands of dollars in damage. Henry, who borrowed the car from his dad’s shop, was now saddled with debt. Of course, he was furious. Jenna sneered. “See, Sophie? This is why I told you to go for Henry. I could tell this guy was a spineless coward who’d only play dirty behind your back. He’s pathetic!” I turned to her. “So, you encouraged her to cheat on me? You’re admitting it?” Jenna rolled her eyes. “Cheating? Please. I was helping my best friend escape a dead-end relationship. What kind of friend would let her marry someone like you? She’ll thank me for this someday.” Sophie crossed her arms impatiently. “Fine, you can have the phone back. But I have one condition—you go apologize to Henry. Admit you lied about me and clear my name.” Jenna added, “Yeah, even if you have to get on your knees and beg, you owe Sophie an apology!” I took the phone from Sophie’s hand and said, “I’m not apologizing for something I didn’t do. And we’re not done here—I want everything else you owe me.” I walked into the room, sat at her desk, and started calculating. Gifts, money transfers—everything I had ever given her during our relationship. Sophie protested, “My friends are here. Do you really have to humiliate me like this? We were in love once—can’t you let me keep my dignity?” Ignoring her, I kept adding up the numbers. Jenna snapped a picture of me and smirked. “Wow, I’ve never seen a more pathetic man. I’m posting this to my story so everyone knows how disgusting you are.” I thought she was bluffing until I checked my phone. Sure enough, she had posted my photo with the caption: “Ladies, beware of broke guys. The poorer they are, the more entitled they feel. My bestie’s ex is harassing her right now—so creepy!” I frowned and said, “Why do you keep throwing around words like ‘poor’ and ‘rich’ in a personal matter between us? You might as well tattoo ‘gold digger’ on your forehead.” Jenna smirked. “Yeah, I’m a gold digger. So what? Do you even have the right to criticize me? If you were rich, you’d be the one lecturing me right now, not the other way around. But look at you—what have you accomplished?” She got more heated as she spoke and walked over to the window, pointing outside. “Rich men drive Lamborghinis worth millions, focused on their careers and ambitions. Meanwhile, broke losers like you sit here doing math, making the girls who once loved them feel sick.” Another roommate finally spoke up, clearly uncomfortable. “Sophie, maybe you should just pay him back. You were in the wrong here.” Sophie’s face darkened. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you taking his side now?” Jenna jumped in immediately, her voice dripping with mockery. “Oh, it’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s jealous. You’ve got a boyfriend with a Lamborghini, and she can’t stand it, so she’s trying to undermine you.” The roommate’s face turned red. “You’re making things up! That’s not true!” I knew this girl—her name was Sarah. She was a scholarship student from a low-income family. I remembered her because, once, Sophie had asked me to buy desserts for everyone in her dorm to show off. Sarah was the only one who refused, saying she didn’t want to accept something she hadn’t earned. That left a strong impression on me. Sophie sighed dramatically. “Sarah, I know you’ve had it hard—you’re here on student loans and scholarships. I get that you resent rich people. But you know what’s more important than grades? Character.” Sarah’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you saying I don’t have character?” I blinked, stunned. Sarah was one of the most hardworking, self-respecting people I knew. And Sophie? Sophie had just been making out with another guy in my car while I was still technically her boyfriend. And she thought Sarah was the one lacking character? Jenna sneered. “I know girls like you, Sarah. You know Sophie broke up with him, and now you’re trying to play the nice, innocent one to win his favor. You don’t even aim high—you know you can’t land a guy with a Lamborghini, so you’re settling for this flyer boy with his $3,000-a-month gig.” Sarah’s fists clenched as she stood up, her voice shaking with anger. “I work as a tutor and make $2,000 a month on my own! I don’t need to stoop so low!” Jenna rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. To you, even crumbs are a feast. Don’t think I didn’t see you yesterday picking rice off the table and eating it. Girls like you are so pathetic you don’t even care how low you go.” Sarah’s eyes filled with tears. “It fell on the table, not the floor! What’s so pathetic about that?” “Enough!” Sophie’s shout cut through the tension. She slammed her phone down on the desk and turned to me. “You’re making me look bad. My biggest regret is dating you. Just finish calculating whatever you’re owed so I can go explain things to my new boyfriend.” Jenna jumped in immediately. “Don’t worry, Sophie. I’ll go with you. Once you clear things up, the rumors will die, and you’ll still be his little princess.” I ignored them both and kept working on the numbers. Of course, I didn’t include the cost of repairing the car—I didn’t want Sophie trying to worm her way back into my life to avoid paying. After calculating everything, I finally had the total: $1,800. I stared at the number, dumbfounded. Dating someone had cost me $1,800. I could barely believe it. My monthly expenses were only a few hundred dollars. It wasn’t until I totaled it all up that I realized how much I had spent. Sophie and Jenna were just as stunned. They were students—where were they going to find that kind of money? At first, they didn’t believe me. They double-checked my math, but eventually, they had to accept the amount was correct. Sophie looked uneasy. “$1,800… I don’t have that kind of money right now.” Jenna, however, wasn’t fazed. “Don’t back down, Sophie. I’ll help you pay him back. How you handle this loser will determine how your new boyfriend sees you. Even if we have to take out a loan, we’ll pay him back. You need to cut ties with this broke guy completely if you ever want to marry into wealth.” Sophie hesitated but eventually nodded. “Fine. We’ll figure out how to borrow the money. I can’t let my parents find out, though—they’d kill me.” I almost laughed. If $1,800 was enough to make her parents furious, what would they do when they saw the $10,000 repair bill for the Lamborghini? Sophie and Jenna scrambled to contact people and borrow money. To my surprise, they managed to raise it quickly. Their classmates chipped in—$200 here, $300 there—until they had over $800. Sophie was thrilled. “Wow, I have such great friends. Everyone’s willing to lend me money.” Jenna grinned. “It’s because of your selfies. Everyone sees you posing on a multi-million-dollar sports car. They probably think this is pocket change for you!” Sophie’s eyes lit up. She turned to me and said, “See? This is what real charm looks like. When you’re with a man who commands admiration, people naturally want to help you. If I were still with you, do you think anyone would lend me money in a pinch?” Jenna snorted. “Forget emergencies. Being with him is a disaster in itself.” Eventually, they managed to gather a little over $800.There was still $1,000 left to cover. Jenna bit her lip and said, “I know someone who works the streets—he can lend me the money. But if we can’t pay it back, things will get ugly.” Sophie hesitated, looking worried. “What happens if we can’t repay him?” Jenna waved it off. “Don’t worry about that. Your new boyfriend is loaded. A thousand bucks is nothing to him.” Jenna quickly called her “connection,” a shady-looking guy who was clearly a private loan shark. Without hesitation, he handed over the $1,000. Once they had scraped together the full amount, Sophie shoved the money into my hands and threw her phone at me. “There! Are you happy now? Get out of my life and never come back!” I nodded, then turned to Sarah, Sophie’s quiet roommate, and said, “Can you come with me for a moment?” Sarah looked startled, clearly confused as to why I was asking her to step out. Jenna sneered. “I knew it! These two have been sneaking around behind your back, Sophie. The moment you pay him off, he’s already moving on to your leftovers.” I sighed. The reason I needed Sarah’s help was simple—she worked on the student council and had access to the dorm directory. If I was going to send Sophie’s family an official court summons, I needed her home address. Blushing furiously, Sarah lowered her head and followed me out of the room. Jenna jeered after us. “You really are pathetic, Sarah. Going after Sophie’s castoffs? What, is that all you think you’re worth?” Sarah’s voice trembled with frustration. “I don’t have any interest in him!” Jenna scoffed. “Oh, please. Stop playing innocent. You’re just a wannabe trying to climb out of poverty. Girls like you don’t even have standards. You’re probably thrilled to even be noticed by someone who hands out flyers for a living.” Sophie added, her voice dripping with disdain, “Honestly, I’m glad I broke up with him. He’s all yours now. Let me give you some advice: trash goes with trash. Enjoy your happily-ever-after.” Once Sarah and I were in the hallway, she turned to me, her voice soft but serious. “I wasn’t standing up for you because I like you or anything. I just couldn’t stand how awful they were being. I don’t have time for romance—I’m focusing on my studies and tutoring to make ends meet.” I nodded. “I know. Between scholarships and part-time jobs, you barely have time to sleep, let alone date.” She gave me a curious look. “Then why did you call me out here?” I explained, “I know you have access to the dorm directory. I need Sophie’s home address. Can you share it with me?” Sarah froze, clearly alarmed. “What are you planning? Please don’t do anything reckless!” She grabbed my arm, her eyes wide with concern. “Look, I get it—you’re upset. But don’t let their behavior ruin your future. You’re better than this.” Her words caught me off guard. Did she honestly think I was planning to do something extreme? Realizing she was still holding my arm, Sarah quickly let go, her cheeks flushing red. “You’re hardworking, ambitious—you deserve better. Ten years from now, Sophie will regret the choices she’s making today. I’m sure of it.” I smirked. “It won’t take ten years. The repair shop is already assessing the damage to my car. If Sophie’s family lives nearby, they’ll be getting the repair bill soon enough.” Sarah blinked, confused. “What car?” I smiled. “The Lamborghini. It’s mine.” Her jaw dropped. I explained the whole story, from Sophie’s betrayal to Jenna’s insults, and how the car they thought belonged to Sophie’s “rich boyfriend” was actually mine. Sarah stared at me in shock, as if she couldn’t process what she was hearing. It wasn’t until I showed her the registration that she finally believed me. When she went to get the dorm directory, she looked like she was still in a daze, as if she were walking on air. Moments later, Sarah sent me Sophie’s address. To my surprise, her family lived just a few miles from the repair shop. What a coincidence. I called the shop, and they assured me they’d deliver the repair estimate to Sophie’s house within ten minutes. But then I remembered something important: Sophie had given me back the phone I’d bought her. How was I supposed to contact her later if I needed to follow up? Reluctantly, I decided to return the phone—for now. When I walked back into the dorm room, Sophie rolled her eyes. “Why are you here again?” I held out the phone. “You don’t have a phone anymore, so you can borrow this for a couple of days.” Jenna clutched her chest dramatically, pretending to gag. “I knew it! He’s just trying to weasel his way back into your life. This is all part of his pathetic act—he wants to play the ‘will they, won’t they’ game with you.” Sophie snapped. “Do you think I’m stupid? Stop following me around! You’re making me look bad in front of my friends!” Just then, Jenna’s phone started ringing. She frowned as she looked at the screen. “That’s weird, Sophie. Why are your parents calling me?” I froze. Wow, the repair shop was quick—looks like Sophie’s parents couldn’t reach her, so they called Jenna instead. Sophie grabbed the phone and answered, “Mom? What’s going on?” She didn’t put the call on speaker, but her mom’s furious yelling was loud enough for all of us to hear: “Don’t call me ‘Mom’! Do you even know how much your dad and I make? You’ve completely ruined us!” Sophie was dumbfounded by the sudden outburst. “What did I do wrong? What happened?” Clutching the phone, she walked to the corner of the dorm. But as the conversation went on, her face turned pale, and suddenly, she burst into tears. Jenna rushed over. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Sobbing, Sophie choked out, “Now I know why he’s so mad at me! I dented his car hood, and now he’s making my family pay for it! The repair estimate is $13,700! Where are we supposed to get that kind of money?” Jenna was stunned. “How does that even make sense? You just sat on it—how could it dent?” Sophie wiped her tears. “The bill already got sent to my parents. My mom said she’s forwarding me the photo of it. I’m supposed to check my phone.” Her legs wobbled as she collapsed onto her bed, too distraught to stand. Jenna bit her lip and said, “Don’t panic. I might have an idea.” Sophie sniffled. “What idea?” Jenna leaned in closer. “The only thing that might save you now is if you’re pregnant. If you have his baby, do you think he’d still have the guts to ask for the repair fees?” Sophie’s eyes widened, and then she nodded quickly. “You’re right! Even if he doesn’t care about me, he’d care about the baby, right?” Jenna got more excited. “Exactly! And if he still dares to ask, we’ll go to his family and make a scene!” Sophie sighed deeply. “I was hoping to use the baby to marry into a rich family, but now it looks like I’ll just be trading it for car repairs.” Jenna patted her shoulder. “Hey, $13,700 isn’t nothing. That’s two years of your parents’ salaries! And who says you still can’t marry rich? If his parents want to save face, they might even insist on a wedding. Forget the repair fees—they might give you a new car!” Listening to this nonsense, I debated for a brief moment whether I should warn Sophie. Her plan to use a baby for leverage wouldn’t stop my parents from collecting the repair fees. I started to speak. “Uh, actually—” Before I could finish, Sophie shot me a death glare and stomped over. She yanked the phone from my hand and snapped, “Shut up. Just leave. I don’t even want to hear your voice right now—you’re making my bad day even worse!” Jenna chimed in, her voice dripping with disdain. “Yeah, can’t you take a hint? We’re trying to figure out how to fix things with Henry. Why don’t you just get lost already?” I hesitated. “Maybe it’s better if you check the repair bill first—” Jenna cut me off with an angry yell. “Leave! Go! You’re such a loser. If you keep hanging around Sophie, we’ll accuse you of harassment and see you in court!” I shrugged. Fair enough. We’d already be seeing each other in court anyway. Sophie was already sending a voice message to Henry: “Please, can you come to the dorm? I just want to talk. I’m begging you.” Henry replied almost immediately. Sophie hit play, and his voice came through loud and clear: “Fine, you crazy b**. I’ll meet you downstairs. I’ve got some things to say to you, too.”** Sophie lowered the phone, her expression uneasy. “Do you think he’ll forgive me?” Jenna reassured her. “Just go down and beg him. I’ll go with you. Together, we’ll smooth things over.” She helped Sophie to her feet and shot me a nasty look. “Move, loser. Out of the way!” I ignored her and headed for the stairs. As I reached the ground floor, Sarah caught up with me. Sophie and Jenna walked past us, keeping their distance from Sarah like she was contagious. Sarah glanced at me nervously. “Are you really going to make Sophie pay that much money?” I shrugged. “I’m not going to scam her. She’ll pay exactly what she owes. But…” Sarah tilted her head. “But what?” I smirked. “I think they’re about to realize they’ve been begging the wrong person. Things might get… awkward.” When we got outside, Henry was already there. But something was off. He was standing by the curb, sniffling, his face streaked with tears. Most notably, there was a bright red handprint on his cheek. I couldn’t help but chuckle. If I had to guess, he’d already told his dad about the car damage and received some “tough love” in the form of a slap. Sophie and Jenna stopped in their tracks, stunned by what they were seeing. Jenna frowned and said, “This can’t be real. His family is rich—why is he crying like this over some car repairs?” Sophie hesitated. “Maybe he really loves that car. When we went out, he was always so careful with it, treating it like a treasure.” Jenna sighed. “They say a man’s car is his second wife. Guess that’s true.” I rolled my eyes. I don’t love my car like a wife. But of course, he had to be careful—it wasn’t even his car. It was mine. Sophie rushed over to him, putting on her most pitiful expression. “Baby, let me explain, please.” He snapped, “Explain to your grandma, you stupid b**!”** Before anyone could react, Henry completely lost it. He grabbed Sophie by the hair and slapped her hard across the face. Both Sophie and Jenna were too shocked to respond. Jenna rushed forward, trying to break them apart, while Sophie whimpered, “Baby, if you’re mad, just hit me. It’s my fault. I’ll do anything to make it up to you. I swear!” “I don’t want your apologies!” Fuming, Henry punched Sophie in the face, over and over. That’s when it finally sank in—this wasn’t just a tantrum. He was genuinely furious. The other students standing nearby were stunned into silence. Just moments ago, Sophie had stepped out of the Lamborghini, basking in the admiration of her peers. Now, she was being publicly humiliated, her hair yanked, her face punched repeatedly. Jenna screamed, “You’re going too far! She’s a girl, for god’s sake!” Henry didn’t care. His punches landed hard, and one of them even knocked out Sophie’s front tooth. Sophie spat out a mouthful of blood, staring at the tooth in disbelief. Panicking, she bent down to pick it up, crying, “Stop hitting me! My tooth! Jenna, go get some milk! We need to save it!” I couldn’t help but chuckle. “She’s actually right. If you put a knocked-out tooth in milk quickly enough, it might be possible to reattach it.” Sarah turned to me, her face pale. “Are you… laughing at her?” I shook my head. “Of course not. We used to date. Seeing her like this hurts me too.” Sarah narrowed her eyes. “Then why are you smiling?” I shrugged. “I just like to smile. They say people who smile a lot have good luck.”

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Challenge: Kiss your best bro and see how he reacts. I waited until Steven was distracted by his phone, then I pounced. I climbed onto his lap, grabbed his tie, and planted a kiss on him. He froze, staring at me in total disbelief, his hand covering his lips. Suddenly, we heard a high-pitched scream from a phone: “Steven’s mom! Come quick! It’s happening for real!” Wait… what? If I could turn back time, I’d choose to go back 24 hours. If not, I’d rather just vanish into oblivion. WHY DID I DO THIS?! As a content creator, chasing trends is part of the job. You’ve got to ride the wave of what’s popular to get those views. While scrolling through short videos for ideas, I came across a new viral trend: “Surprise your best friend with a kiss and capture the shock on his face!” I slammed my hand on my desk. This is it! The perfect idea! How convenient that I already had a best friend living under the same roof. Steven and I practically grew up as brothers. Our moms were best friends, so we’d been stuck together since childhood. Apart from going to college in different cities, we were inseparable. After graduation, Steven started working at his family’s company, while I became a full-time video creator. My mom called it “messing around at home like a hyperactive monkey.” Eventually, she got sick of me “goofing off” and packed up my stuff. She sent me to live with Steven so I could “learn a thing or two.” Learn what, exactly? His strict routine? His obsession with working out? How to live like a monk? The guy’s never even had a girlfriend! If I lived like Steven, my life would be unbearable. He doesn’t eat fried chicken, drink beer, or touch barbecue. Honestly, I feel bad for whatever poor girl ends up with him. That evening, Steven came home from work, still in his suit, and collapsed onto the couch with his phone. He looked so focused on whatever he was watching, he didn’t even notice me sneaking up. I’d already hidden my phone on the TV stand to record the whole thing. Grinning mischievously, I tiptoed over to him. When the moment was right, I jumped onto his lap, grabbed his tie, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. But he turned his head at the worst possible moment. Our lips met. We both froze. Then, from my phone came the unmistakable sound of my mom’s excited scream: “Steven’s mom! Come quick! It’s real! It’s happening!” I turned my head like a rusty machine, and there it was—the phone screen showing a live video call with my mom. Before I could process what was happening, Steven’s mom appeared in the background, wearing a face mask. She looked just as shocked as my mom. “Oh my God! You two… when did this happen?!” I turned to Steven, silently begging him to explain. But instead of helping, he leaned back on the couch, smirking as he watched me squirm under their interrogation. I grabbed his tie again, pulling him closer. “Say something! Explain! Now!” Steven just raised an eyebrow and frowned slightly, refusing to say a word. Meanwhile, the moms were losing their minds. My mom shrieked, “I can’t believe it! My little Tyler is so bold—does this mean he’s the dominant one?” Steven’s mom immediately protested. “No way! Steven’s taller, stronger, and more mature. He’s definitely the dominant one. Plus, he could pick Tyler up—imagine that!” My mom nodded enthusiastically. “You’re right! Being picked up is so romantic. Oh, this is giving me so many ideas—I could draw at least twenty illustrations from this!” Steven’s mom giggled. “Not to mention Tyler’s smaller frame, tiny waist, and soft legs. He’d look amazing in a dress, being held by Steven. Don’t you think?” “Absolutely! Steven in a dress wouldn’t have the same effect. Tyler’s definitely better for that.” …Excuse me?! Mom, are you even trying to defend me? Do you realize what you’re saying? I’m a manly man, okay?! I could totally be the dominant one! But a dress? Being picked up? I sat there, frozen, still gripping Steven’s tie, as their words echoed in my head. Steven finally sighed, his patience clearly wearing thin. He glared at me, then growled, “Handle your family.” Before I could react, he wrapped an arm around my waist and ended the call with his free hand. Of course, the last thing we heard from the video call was both moms screaming, “IT’S HAPPENING!” I’m dead. Just bury me now. In that moment, I made peace with my fate. No need to save me, I’m fine being dead, thanks. 2 The thought of everyone finding out what happened between Steven and me sent a cold shiver down my spine. “Steven, if I jump out the window, do you think I’d die on the spot?” Steven glanced at me with zero emotion. “It’s the first floor. Even if you jump off the roof, you’d barely sprain an ankle.” Frustrated, I tugged on his tie like a madman. That’s when he slapped me on the butt—yes, the butt. We both froze. Then, in a dangerously calm voice, Steven said, “How long are you planning to sit on my lap?” I scrambled off him immediately, only to realize I was still holding onto his tie. I let go like it was burning me. Steven leaned back on the couch, clearly annoyed. Still in his work suit, tie slightly loosened, he tapped his fingers impatiently on his knee. His sharp gaze flicked to me, brows furrowed in irritation. Meanwhile, I sat on the carpet like a scolded puppy—wait, no, like a dignified person—waiting for him to fix the mess I’d created. “I told my mom I was filming a video, but she doesn’t believe me,” I said. My credibility with my mom was already in the negatives. She didn’t even bother replying to my texts. “Can’t you explain to your mom?” I added, trying to sound pitiful. “You know how my mom treats me. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m even her biological child.” Steven sighed, pulled out his phone, and typed: “Tyler was filming a video.” A moment later, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his expression darkening, then tossed the phone onto the couch. On the screen was his mom’s reply: “Oh, roleplay? Filming is fine, just remember to keep it private. Don’t worry, your Aunt Lisa and I fully support you!” Steven’s glare could’ve frozen the sun. I sat there trembling on the carpet, trying to come up with a solution. “What if… you tell your mom you dumped me? That way, you save face, and we both get out of this mess. Plus, I can move back home.” The more I thought about it, the better the idea sounded. Steven let out a cold laugh. “Why don’t you tell your mom I dumped you? I don’t care about saving face.” I froze. If I told my mom Steven dumped me, she’d call me 80 times a day to yell at me. A shiver ran down my spine. No way. Too terrifying. Desperate, I scooted over on the carpet until I was at Steven’s feet, looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes. I grabbed his hand. “Steven, please! Help me out!” When we were kids, I had a round face with chubby cheeks and dimples that made me look adorable. Any time I got into trouble, I’d use this same pitiful look to get Steven to take the blame for me. And it worked—99 out of 100 times, he’d cover for me. But it had been years since I’d tried this trick. Would it still work? Steven stared at me with disdain for a long moment. Finally, he sighed, reached out, and pinched my cheek hard. “Fine. Just let it blow over. It’ll die down eventually.” Would it, though? I wasn’t so sure. But seeing the storm brewing on Steven’s face, I decided to keep my doubts to myself. I liked being alive, thanks. The video was filmed, the trend was followed, and I held the key to going viral. But I couldn’t bring myself to post it. Still, staring at my dwindling follower count and my creative block, I knew I had no choice. I edited the video, cutting out all the embarrassing parts, like my mom insisting Steven was the dominant one. After an hour and a half of careful trimming, the video was ready. Of course, I blurred Steven’s face. With trembling hands, I uploaded it. The next morning, I woke up and immediately checked my account. The notification count read 99+. My heart raced. Rolling around my bed in excitement, I clutched my phone like it was a winning lottery ticket. I wanted to run downstairs in my boxers and do a victory lap around the block. Then I opened the comments section. “OMG, sunshine puppy meets stoic alpha? This is the pairing of the century!” “Did you see how he grabbed the smaller guy’s waist? His hands almost wrapped all the way around! What kind of god-tier waist is that?!” Huh?! I felt my toes curl in embarrassment. What were these girls even watching?! “Am I the only one who’s a voice addict? When the alpha said ‘handle your family,’ I legit started drooling.” “Uh… just wondering, is the creator taking a break from posting because his husband kept him busy all night? Hehe.” My face turned pale. I couldn’t read anymore. I threw my phone onto the bed and buried myself under the covers, pretending to be dead. What kind of unholy comments were these?! 3I felt a sharp smack on my butt and shot up from under the covers. Standing by my bed in casual clothes was Steven, looking at me like he knew I’d done something wrong. Panicking, I grabbed my phone and clutched it to my chest. “Why are you home? Shouldn’t you be at work? You know, sacrificing yourself for the company?” Steven’s handsome face remained unreadable as he gave me a once-over, his gaze finally landing on the phone in my hands. His tone was pointed. “Feeling guilty about something?” “Ha! Nonsense. I’m an upstanding citizen. I have nothing to hide!” Steven snorted, clearly unimpressed, and turned to leave. “Come eat. I ordered takeout.” Once he was out of sight, I quickly closed the app and let out a huge sigh of relief. That was close. At the dining table, I spotted my favorite crab buns, and my face lit up like a Christmas tree. I looked at Steven with genuine gratitude. “Steven, you’re the best! If I ever make it big, I won’t forget you!” He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Spare me. It’s better if you do forget.” I didn’t care about his attitude. I was too busy devouring the buns, savoring every bite. The video of me kissing Steven, paired with the moms’ over-the-top reactions, had gone viral within a week. Over 20 million views on the short video platform and more than a million new followers. Sure, there was a chance Steven could see it, but every time I thought about the sponsorship offers rolling in, I couldn’t help but drool a little. So what if I get beaten up? Pride is overrated. If losing some dignity means paying my bills, I’ll take it. A few days later, I got an offer from a company asking me to promote their gaming chairs. They were willing to pay $50,000 per million views. I stared at the email on my laptop, my jaw practically hitting the floor. Is this it? Is this my big break? Am I finally ascending to the top of the food chain?! Overwhelmed with joy, I signed the contract immediately. But as I started planning the next video, doubt crept in. What if this one flopped? The last video’s success was a total fluke. Could I really pull it off again? That evening, Steven came home carrying a package and tossed it onto the table in front of me. “What’s this?” “Something your mom sent you.” I perked up. My mom loved sending me snacks—usually the ones she couldn’t finish or didn’t like. Waste not, want not, right? But when I opened the package, I froze. It wasn’t snacks. It was a dress. A little black dress. “…What the hell?!” From across the room, Steven leaned casually against the wall, sipping his coffee. He smirked and let out a low laugh. “Hah.” “AHHHHHH!” I screamed, chucking the dress onto the floor. Fueled by rage and embarrassment, I charged at Steven, determined to settle this once and for all and salvage my already nonexistent dignity. But before I could get close, Steven calmly reached out, placed a hand on my forehead, and held me at arm’s length like I was a misbehaving child. I flailed helplessly, stuck a full meter away from him. This is war. 4 “Son, did you get the dress I mailed you? Put it on and take a photo for me, okay? Better yet, record a little video. I need inspiration for my work—something like this pose.” After getting thoroughly manhandled by Steven earlier, I opened my mom’s message. Not only did she confirm the package had arrived, but she also assigned me a “task.” Attached to the text was an image: a tall, muscular guy sitting in a chair, while a girl in a sleek black dress leaned toward him. Her hand was playing with her hair, her face turned slightly to show off her flawless profile. The two of them were so close, their lips were practically touching. It was drenched in hormones and tension. She wanted me to wear a dress and recreate this—with Steven? I’d rather die, thanks. Before I could respond, my dear mother, who knows me far too well, sent another message: “If my son doesn’t cooperate, then you can say goodbye to your precious collection. 😊😊😊” Attached was a photo of my carefully curated collection of figurines and models—alongside her hand holding a pair of scissors. This was blackmail. Shameless, blatant blackmail! I glared at the dress, struggled for two minutes, and then caved. My collection was non-negotiable. The fabric of the dress was silky and cold against my bare skin. After fighting with a pair of five-inch heels—and falling flat on my face multiple times—I finally managed to wobble my way to the living room. Steven, who was casually sipping his coffee, took one look at me and spit it out. “What the hell are you staring at? Come help me walk, genius!” Steven, still in shock, staggered to his feet and grabbed my arm to steady me. After a few steps, his face turned strangely red. Without warning, he reached over and adjusted my spaghetti strap. “What are you doing?” I shot him a glare. Steven coughed, avoiding eye contact. His voice was low and awkward. “I could see it… pink.” WHAT?! I immediately crossed my arms over my chest, glaring at him suspiciously. I set up my phone, yanked a very confused Steven into the new gaming chair I’d just received for promotion, and posed according to the reference image: leaning toward him, our faces close enough to feel each other’s breath. As I inched closer, Steven’s expression shifted from confusion to alarm, and then to something I couldn’t quite place. His ears turned red, and just when I thought I’d nailed the shot, he leaned forward— And kissed me. His lips brushed mine, soft and warm. I froze, stumbling back a step, completely stunned. “What the hell was that?!” Steven frowned, licking his lips. “I should be asking you that! What are you even doing?” “My mom said she needed inspiration for her art, okay? She threatened my figurines! Wait—didn’t your mom tell you anything about this?!” For context, my mom is an artist who specializes in romance fan art, and Steven’s mom writes novels in the same genre. Growing up, they’d constantly rope us into weird photo shoots, so I thought for sure Steven was in on it. Apparently not. Steven pinched the bridge of his nose, looking like he was seriously reevaluating his life choices. “Next time, give me a heads-up, will you? I thought you were…” “Thought I was what?” Steven hesitated, his gaze flickering to the empty space on my chest, then down to my legs in the too-short dress and heels. His face turned bright red. “Too cute,” he mumbled. Steven’s reaction gave me an idea. If I could get this video to go viral again, I might as well use it to launch the gaming chair promotion. After all, I’d already crossed the line into wearing a dress—why not profit from it? The video was posted, and the comments section exploded. “OMG, the creator in a dress?! Adorable! Look at those legs!” “Wait, isn’t this the same guy with the ‘tough alpha best friend’ from the last video? I SEE THAT HAND ON HIS WAIST. Don’t try to hide it from us!” “Forget the chair—just kiss already! Right here, in front of us!” “More dress videos, please! You’re too cute to stop now!” I closed the app, my face burning from the sheer chaos of the comments. These fans were absolutely unhinged. But as I watched the follower count and views skyrocket, I couldn’t help but grin. MayMaybe wearing a dress wasn’t so bad after all. If every video brought in millions of views, what’s a little humiliation? Turns out, when it comes to dresses, there’s no such thing as just once.

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I’ve been plump since childhood, pampered by my mother’s overfeeding. As a result, I endured endless mockery. Later, Mom specially bought me diet pills. The effects improved day by day. It wasn’t until I died in bed from taking those pills that I realized the truth. These pills were actually meant for my sick brother. They were designed to exchange our lifespans. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day I first took those diet pills. Mom had sought out these lifespan-exchanging pills to cure my bedridden brother. She tricked me into taking them by calling them diet pills. Later, my brother became lively and energetic, while I died in bed. When I opened my eyes once more, I had incredibly traveled back in time to the day Mom gave me those pills. Since Mom loved my brother so much, This time, I decided, you’ll be the one exchanging lifespans, Mom. “Sweetie, hurry up and take your medicine. You’ll slim down in no time,” my mom said eagerly, about to shove the pills into my mouth. If I hadn’t traveled back in time, I would have gobbled up her so-called “diet pills” without a second thought. I had always been chubby, much heavier than my peers. Because of my weight and being a girl, I was often ridiculed by others. At school, they would call me “fatty” and mock me, isolating and bullying me. I was never included in class activities, treated like a complete outsider. I couldn’t participate in class performances – they jeered that my size made it impossible to find suitable costumes. Even some teachers looked at me with disdain. So I became desperate to lose weight, but Mom always prepared all sorts of delicious food for me. Whenever I wanted to diet, she would patiently persuade me: “Jelena, you’re perfect as you are. Why bother losing weight?” Thus, fooled by her words, I grew fatter and fatter, finding it increasingly difficult to slim down. When I tried to resist, Mom would cry, throw tantrums, or even threaten suicide. I had no choice. Thinking she just didn’t want to see me suffer, I agreed not to diet. She smiled contentedly watching me balloon up, feeding me endless pork belly, braised pork, and stewed pig’s trotters. But one day, she suddenly wanted me to lose weight. She claimed seeing me being mocked broke her heart, so she had specially obtained some diet pills. She said these pills were incredibly effective – I just needed to take them daily and I’d slim down in no time. I believed her. Every day, I eagerly took the diet pills without waiting for Mom’s reminders. Day after day, I truly lost quite a bit of weight, so I took the pills even more desperately. Mom continued smiling, handing me bottle after bottle of diet pills. I became thinner and thinner, the mocking voices grew less frequent, and I started to make friends. But this improved life didn’t last long, as I realized I was becoming increasingly frail, feeling like I could stop breathing at any moment. Meanwhile, my brother, who had long been bedridden and plagued by illness, gradually improved. He could not only get out of bed but also run and jump around. I finally sensed something was wrong when I overheard Mom talking to my brother. “My precious son is finally getting better. The master’s method really worked. Otherwise, I would have raised your sister for nothing all these years, fattening her up and then giving her diet pills. Those diet pills she’s been taking can actually exchange your lifespans.” Only then did I realize that what I had been taking were not diet pills at all. They were pills that could exchange lifespans. The reason I slimmed down was that my lifespan was being transferred to my brother. Mom was trying to kill me for my brother’s sake. But by the time I learned the truth, it was too late. I only had a few days left to live. When Mom realized I knew the truth, she dropped her kind facade. “What are you looking at? If you’re going to die, just die. You think it was easy for me to raise you all these years? Don’t look at me like I owe you thousands of dollars. I don’t owe you anything. This is what you owe your brother. What’s wrong with sacrificing your life for your brother as his sister?” I refused to take any more “diet pills,” but she and my brother tied me up. They force-fed me bottles of pills. I finally died, my eyes wide open in disbelief.

But I never imagined I would travel back in time to when it all began. I clenched my fists, my whole body trembling uncontrollably. Partly from excitement, partly from resentment. I silently vowed that this time, I wouldn’t let them have their way. “What are you spacing out for? These are special diet pills Mom went to great lengths to get for you. They’re very expensive.” Mom’s smile concealed her malice, her tone tinged with sarcasm. I can’t believe I never noticed before in my past life. “Thank you, Mom.” I grabbed the small diet pills, smiling as I eagerly popped them into my mouth. In reality, I had hidden all the pills in my chubby fingers. “I’ll definitely slim down, right?” I asked. Mom nodded, satisfied and about to leave. “Mom, can I have a bottle? I’ll take some pills when I’m hungry.” Mom raised an eyebrow, clearly pleased by my enthusiasm. She took out a bottle of diet pills from her pocket and placed it on my bedside table. “Of course. Jelena will definitely become a beautiful girl after slimming down.” I nodded. Of course I would slim down, but through my own efforts. In my past life, I hadn’t lost weight because of her repeated interference. This life, I definitely wouldn’t let her have her way. I huddled under the covers, planning my next steps. Luckily it was winter, so I could just wear thick clothes and Mom wouldn’t notice if I had slimmed down or not. I hid all the diet pills away. Tomorrow I would exchange them for similar-looking pills. They were all small white pills, so she probably wouldn’t notice. Since she was so eager for my brother to live, using her own life shouldn’t be a problem, right? I snuggled into the warm blankets and fell asleep. The next morning, Mom came in with hot water. She wasn’t concerned about me – she just wanted to make sure I took the pills. I took the hot water from her. As I got out of bed, I stumbled slightly, spilling the scalding water on her hand. “Ahh!!!” she screamed, slapping me across the face. I cupped my cheek and closed my eyes, tears immediately streaming down. “Mom, how could you hit me? I won’t take the diet pills anymore. Mom, you don’t love me anymore. Mom, just keep fattening me up! I don’t want to diet anymore.” Having died once already, I naturally knew what her weak spot was. There was no way I would let her manipulate me so easily again. I watched her face freeze, disregarding the burn on her hand as she rushed to boil eggs to soothe my face. “Look how careless Mommy was. Jelena, forgive Mommy, okay? We’re too fat, it’s not good for our health. Let’s take the diet pills and slim down, alright?” I nodded, enjoying her fawning attention. It felt pretty good. Mom saw us off at the door, telling me: “Be careful at school.” As she said this, her face concealed a hint of malice. She was actually hoping I would be bullied and abused at school. Because when I was at home, she had to wait on me hand and foot, leaving her little time to care for my brother. So she was happy to see me bullied. But having lived through this once before, there was no way I would let history repeat itself.

I put on a worried expression and asked, “Mom, how’s my brother? I went to check on him yesterday and he was barely breathing. Is he about to…” I trailed off without finishing the last two words, deliberately trying to anger her. “No, your brother is fine. You’ll be late for school if you don’t hurry.” I trudged onto the school bus with my heavy body. As soon as I got on, I heard raucous laughter. The entire bus full of students was laughing at me. I pretended not to hear and found a seat. “Who said you could sit down? Get up! What if you break the seat? It’s so annoying that someone as fat as you is squeezing onto the school bus. You’re taking up space for several people.” The girl speaking was Samantha, the ringleader of the bullies in our class. She especially loved seeking attention and thought bullying me was great fun. “Fatso,” she muttered. Hearing the whole bus laugh at her comment, she nodded in satisfaction. In my past life, I had been too fat to dare resist, afraid that fighting back would only lead to more bullying. And my mom had told me to avoid causing trouble at school, saying she didn’t have the energy to look after me. So I had always been meek and subservient. But now things were different. I looked at her and smiled slightly. “You want me to give up my seat?” She folded her arms and looked down at me, nodding arrogantly. Alright then! Since you’re so eager to sit here, I’ll oblige you. I stood up, and she immediately sat down. It was so cold, yet she was wearing shorts with stockings. She really wasn’t afraid of the cold. I suddenly grabbed her head and slammed it against the window. “Comfortable now?” “What are you doing? How dare you hit people? Are you crazy?” “Yeah, she’s just a fat pig with a narrow mind. So annoying.” “I know, right? Just looking at all that blubber makes me want to puke. I’m glad I’m not in her class.” I ignored the taunts from the other students. My goal now was to establish dominance. “Let go of me! Let go!!!” the girl screamed. I sneered and released my grip. “What, still want to sit?” Samantha shook her head, tears and snot streaming down her face. I pulled back my hand and she quickly stood up. Even if no one approved of my actions, I didn’t care. As long as I was happy, that was enough. “Psycho,” I heard Samantha mutter as she ran away. When we arrived at school, I clumsily got off the bus, triggering another round of laughter. They even gathered around me and started singing. “Fatty fatty, blob of lard. Fatty fatty, makes us barf. Fatty fatty, ha ha ha.” I tried my best to ignore them and walked into the classroom. I sat alone at a desk in the very back – it was the only place spacious enough for me to fit. It was too cold outside, so I had just closed the door when someone opened it again. “What’s the problem? The classroom stinks. I’m just airing it out, is that not allowed?” said one of Samantha’s minions. I looked over at Samantha, whose face still bore marks from hitting the window earlier. I nodded. “You think the classroom stinks, huh?” With that, I stood up and dumped the trash can over her. “Now you’re the one who stinks. Didn’t you want to air things out? Go outside!” I shoved her out and slammed the door shut. Her shrieks could be heard from outside. I had barely been at school an hour before being called to the office. The homeroom teacher was biased against me. “Jelena, what’s going on with you? You come to school and immediately start hitting classmates. I can see you really don’t want to study anymore. You already have a head full of food, and now you’re hitting classmates too? I’m calling your parents.” I let out a cold laugh. “Teacher, do you know why I hit someone? How can you blame me without knowing the facts? Isn’t Samantha such a good student that she can do no wrong?” The teacher stood up and walked towards me in her high heels. I found the sound quite annoying. “If it’s not your fault, then whose is it? Samantha is such a good student, how could she be wrong? You’re really giving me a headache. If you keep being so stubborn, I’ll have to expel you.” At our school, homeroom teachers had the authority to expel students. Fine, expel me then. I wasn’t afraid. “Oh really? So if I told you Samantha led her gang to bully me, cornering me in the bathroom and forcing me to drink dirty water, dumping garbage on me, and making me eat their leftovers, you’d still think it was my fault?” I raised my head and stared boldly at the teacher. “Teacher, I don’t care if you’re biased, but you can’t wrongly accuse me. I have video evidence. Do you want to risk everything over this?” She finally panicked. If word got out that she was a teacher who allowed bullying to happen, she would be fired. “We’ll discuss this matter later,” the teacher finally backed down.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “296151”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #励志Inspiring #浪漫Romance #魔幻Magic #校园School #重生Reborn #惊悚Thriller